


Leaving Lawrence

by numbjaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bilingual Castiel, Blood, Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, F/M, Fighting, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, High School, Homophobia, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Injury, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Popular Dean Winchester, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Supportive Sam Winchester, Tags May Change, Underage Drinking, Underage Substance Use, Violinist Castiel, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbjaw/pseuds/numbjaw
Summary: Graduation is approaching fast and Dean is failing. Placed in an after-school study group to help boost his grades last-minute, Dean formerly meets Castiel, an introverted violinist with a cautious streak who soon begins to shift his entire perspective. What does it mean to be a son without a mother, a sibling without direction, a friend without secrets, a lover without doubt? As Dean finds himself guiding Castiel through his own fears, he realizes he must also fight his own, and that when all storms pass, sometimes, your guardian angel is also your World History classmate...





	1. Ghost

One of the clearest memories he had of his mother was of her telling him that angels were watching over him. He was never really sure, until the summer of 1997...

For Dean Winchester, the end of the school year had came up quick, which was odd, seeing as every other day leading up to April had taken a few dozen eternities. Finally in his senior year, he had only about a month and a half left until the end of school, forever, as he had no intentions of going to college like Sam. Well, more so, had passively accepted the fact he'd never be accepted into a university like Sam, and despite his brother's constant, frustrated encouragement, it was “too late to try”.

Dean hadn't exactly aimed for a high GPA during his time in high school. Too preoccupied with popular kid life outside of the classrooms, he had skated by with the bare minimum - much to many of his teachers' disappointments. The smarts were there, everybody knew that (Hell, even a lesser-displayed side of Dean himself knew that), but his attitude wasn't. Dean only seemed to care about fixing cars, hooking up with chicks, teasing his brother, and in contrast, the particular stillness of a Sunday afternoon by himself in an overgrown wheat field a few miles from his house.

He would spend hours laying in that field, often getting so lost in his thoughts about the world outside of Lawrence that Sam would eventually have to come find him before it got too dark. Then the Winchester brothers would have their long walk back home, talking about anything they wanted to, unfiltered and unafraid, with nobody but themselves to judge any of it. On this note, Sam enjoyed the fields as much as Dean did.

But the walks weren’t without their imperfections.

Every so often, they’d wind up on the subject of their mother. It was always hit and miss: sometimes Dean opened up, sometimes he didn't... but only because he couldn't. Sam, though always eager, usually knew when to stop asking questions, but that discipline had taken a few arguments and a brotherly fist fight on the side of a dirt road to instill.

“It's just Dad never talks about her, like ever, so you're literally the only one who can tell me anything about her,” Sam would usually insist, “And I can only get so much from the _one picture_ we have…”

On a good day, Dean would grant him an answer, and try to contain the full extent of his smile; difficult with the way Sam’s whole face would light up.

“I remember her voice…” Dean recalled, “It was real gentle-like, y'know, quiet, even. Sorta like a dove. I think I only heard her raise her voice once - to Dad. Who knows what it was over, but knowin' him, he prob’ly deserved it.”

Dean really couldn't blame Sam for cherishing the details that he never got to experience. But even in uncovering the smallest of memories, Dean found that it tore him up too damn much to grant Sammy what he deserved. Not to mention that Dean only had an unfocused, four-year-old's memory of Mary to refer to. Their father, on the other hand, had nearly a lifetime of memories of her to share, but Dean was certain he’d keep them locked up until he died.

And in a way, Dean understood a little. The pain was very real. But he also understood enough to know that fighting back that pain every now and then to give Sam something to smile about was worth the occasional story or two. But he wasn't about to start that argument with John again. John had made it more-than-clear to him one night, and as it currently stood, the name 'Mary' was never spoken between them.

Sam never found out why.

Other than that single instance, John had never abused them, unless being overly-strict and totally distant counted. Lately, John really only reprimanded them if they took too long getting home, never having been a fan of them staying out past the streetlights turning on. Sometimes Dean wondered if his father knew he was eighteen, but much like the Mary subject, he didn't bring it up. Between two full time jobs, John was breaking his back for their basic needs, and was rarely home as a result. Dean had seen that from the time he was eight, so he could’ve have cared less about a missed birthday of his here or there. His father was in a tailspin, and had been for years, so the sooner Dean could get through high school and start working full time, the better. He probably would’ve dropped out entirely if John would've allowed such a thing, or if he didn't feel the need to keep an eye on Sam’s first year in high school. Luckily, he had found that the money he saved over the past few summers from Uncle Bobby's wreck yard was usually enough to ease John's financial stresses through the winter months.

Now in late March, however, those funds had long run out. The grind had set in. And unlike his peers worrying over finals and graduation, all Dean could think about was working again.

 

This had been the case until a particular Friday afternoon, in which he was woken up from his wheat field daydreams by Mrs. Harvelle, his U.S. Government teacher. She was as tough as she was gentle-worded, but definitely not a teacher worth pissing off. Some students would rather hide in the principal’s office than get pulled back for a word with her, and for this, Dean instantly felt his stomach begin to flip-flop with anxious waves of ‘What did I do?’.

The final bell of the week had rung and most of the students had left, eager to enjoy the thrill of the weekend past numerously procrastinated end-of-the-year assignments. A few girls lingered curiously behind to see what trouble Dean Winchester had winded up in again, but Mrs. Harvelle was quick to shoo them away.

“I have somethin' here for you, Dean…” She told him while digging through the various stacks of papers on her desk. The organized clutter vaguely reminded him of Uncle Bobby's place.

“Should I be worried?” Dean joked, though he was partially serious.

“I don’t know, Dean, should you be?” Mrs. Harvelle shot back, smirking before handing him a thick paper packet, “Nah, you shouldn’t. Unless you had weekend party plans, because you just got pulled for Crash Course.”

“What...?” Dean repeated, grabbing the packet.

‘Crash Course’ and generic, school-related clip art decorated the top page. His name was printed on the bottom just under the dates, starting from the next day to the following Saturday.

“One whole week of specialized, one-on-one, core class boot camp.” Mrs. Harvelle summarized, turning back to the paper skyscrapers on her desk.

“Wait, wait, hold on a sec, I thought you had to sign up for this? I never signed up for this.” Dean insisted, attempting to hand Mrs. Harvelle the packet back, despite his name being printed right on the damn thing. Other than Sammy, he was the only Winchester in the school. But it had to be a mistake.

“School administration signed you up for this, Dean.” Mrs. Harvelle confirmed, “You and a handful of other students who don't seem to be doing too well on their tests.”

“They can't just _do that_. They can't just… schedule me here when I'm not supposed to be here. It's like... against the law or something.” Dean shrugged. It sounded accurate enough, and she couldn’t blame him for trying, right?

Mrs. Harvelle chuckled, the small wrinkles around her eyes deepening, “Considering your parent approved it already, it's set in stone.”

At the phrase ‘parent approved’, Dean felt a portion of his already-aching stomach tighten. “They called my friggin' _DAD_ about this?! _When_?”

"Calm down, Dean,” Mrs. Harvelle said, no longer smiling as she recognized the fear in Dean was actually real and not part of an act. “Hey. This is a good thing, alright? There are plenty of students who sign up for this and never even get on the list. It's a privilege, really…”

“Well, if someone else wants it so bad, they can just have my slot because I'm not coming.” Dean sneered before turning away, far more upset over the school actually making contact with his father than the idea of having a boatload of extra school work.

“Dean, I get it." Mrs. Harvelle started, enough to make Dean pause in the doorway, “I'm about the most ready to get the heck out of here at the end of next month, but if you don't take this extra time now, there's a good chance you won't graduate and that's just the truth.”

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek and looked back at his teacher. Her concern was genuine, which he appreciated, but hearing one of his biggest fears spoken aloud was unsettling and hard to swallow. He always knew his grades weren't the best, definitely not college quality, but was he really so screwed that a high school diploma was out of the question? He’d never really tried that hard, sure, but it wasn’t like he didn’t show up and do assignments either. Why the hell were tests worth so much anyways? And why did the school only give a crap now that he was months away from graduation rather than the four other years he’d been attending with low marks?

Mrs. Harvelle got up from her chair and approached him slowly, as if sensing his inner turmoil, adding, “You show up every day. From what I hear, you do just fantastic in Auto Tech and your other electives, but barely slip by in others, including mine. I don't want to see you fudge this up, alright? None of us do. You're a smart kid, Dean. I've had enough dummies over the years to know that much. So will you just go and give it a shot?”

“Not by choice,” Dean sighed, rolling up the Crash Course packet in his fist, “We done here?”

“Go on ahead.”

As soon as Mrs. Harvelle waved him off, he made a bee-line for the meetup spot he made with Sam near the second tree out in the front of the school. Sam was already there with Jessica, another freshman that he had taken a liking to months ago but hadn't asked out yet, either out of stupidity or fear or both. Most likely the first. All Dean knew was that if Sam didn't hurry it up, Dean was about to ask for him.

"Whoa, Dean, what's up?" Sam asked, shoulders rounding back, already aware of Dean's frustration, ready to grab him and calm him back down.

"I just got pulled for friggin' Crash Course, Sammy," Dean explained, uncrumpling the packet from his fist.

The concern immediately left Sam's face, and after a beat of silence, he started cackling, maybe out of relief more than anything else. Jessica even covered her mouth to hide a wide smile. Dean glared between them and confirmed they were perfect for each other.

“That's all? I thought something bad happened, man,” Sam explained after his laughter subsided, reaching out to study the packet for himself, entire face glowing. Christmas had come early again for Sam Winchester.

“This _is_ bad!” Dean argued, “My whole weekend is blown. Just _boom_. Gone.”

“Dean, this is only like, three hours a day. Looks like from seven to ten tomorrow and Sunday - ”

“It's not a weekend if you can't sleep in.” Dean retorted.

“He has a point, Sam.” Jessica agreed, offering a bit of mock-wince for Dean's sake.

"Thank you!" Dean motioned to her, thinking, _‘Yeah, Sammy, she's a keeper.’_

"Well, I think this'll be good for you." Sam confirmed, pushing the packet back to Dean, "You've needed to get more serious about school since, well, _forever_."

“Whatever. All I know is Dad approved this crap, so that means when we get home he's gonna drill into me about my grades, which he never should've known about in the first place…”

Sam picked up on the faint dread in Dean's voice and patted his shoulder. “Hey man, I'm sure it'll be fine. It's not like you're failing, right?”

“No!” Dean answered defensively, getting a suspicious eyebrow raise from Sam, “I mean, I might have a ‘D’ here and there but everything else is like solid C's!”

Sam wasn’t impressed. “Seriously, Dean? C's?”

Dean sighed. “Well, think of it this way Sammy, at least you'll look real good tonight, right?”

Sam only rolled his eyes before politely bidding Jessica farewell and joining Dean on the walk home.

***

The fire that had taken their mother had also taken their first home, a suburban property with lush grass and white picket fence not far from the heart of the town and Lawrence High. Their current house was a good five or so miles away and stood by itself on the side of a long dirt road on a few acres of old, unusable farmland. With it’s patchy yard, dirt driveway, and metal chain link fence bent unevenly around the property, it was definitely the most opposite-looking home John could’ve picked in comparison of their first. Dean used to think that it had been on purpose, but found later that John had gotten it as a deal from one of his coworkers and was the best he could afford without uprooting the boys from familiar schools. It definitely made Dean appreciate the old shack a lot more, and he was set on giving it a new coat of paint as a surprise to John once time and money allowed him. If time and money allowed him...

Dean and Sam had the option of taking a school bus, but both preferred the hike. There were the occasions that their Dad would pick them up in the Impala, too. Very rare occasions, indeed, but so worth it for all the attention she so effortlessly attracted. Usually though, rain or shine, the Winchester brothers would make the trek to and from the farm house without complaining. Just talking or just walking.

Today was one of the more quiet days between them. Dean could feel Sam trying to summon up something to say regarding Crash Course fiasco and their Dad maybe not being as mad as they were fearing him to be, but sort of like the subject of their mother, Sam knew when not to say anything.

Dean was afraid to deal with his father for good reason, but at least he didn't have to do it alone. Sometimes Dean felt like Sammy was the one thing to keep his dad from going completely off the rails with him. Dean never liked to think about it in terms of levels of love; he knew that it was equal between them, but it was just... _different_. Mary had died saving Sam's life in the fire, so it made sense that John and Dean had to protect him, lest that sacrifice be in vain. Sam wasn't necessarily untouchable because of this, but he definitely had it easier, mostly from Dean secretly taking a lot of the falls for him. 

But this was the job of all big brothers to their pain-in-the-ass little brothers.

Dean never minded it, even as they got older and the situations more intense. It gave purpose and valor to his punishments from John. It was a different story when he was punished for his own faults, however. Those were purely on him and because of him. There was no valor in that. Only disappointment and hormone-fueled self-hatred.

Predictably, John was there when they got home and Dean visibly hesitated in the driveway next to the Impala. He placed his hand on the shiny metal hood and breathed in deeply. Forget the chicks and the wheat fields on Sundays, _this_ was his second favorite thing behind Sam, and probably the most important object in the entire universe.

“Hey there,” Dean whispered to the car, grinning. What he wouldn't do to finally be able to take her out on his own without his dad being a backseat driver...

Sam pretended not to hear Dean whispering sweet nothings to the car and looked off at the clouds moving fast above them. 

“A storm's coming,” Sam thought aloud, to which Dean gave the car one final lucky pat.

“Yep.”

***

Sam tried not to hear the argument downstairs and mindlessly stared at a paragraph in his English textbook until it was over, his eyes never breaking away from the word “leave”. He wondered how his father and Dean would be without him around after he went to college. Would they get worse or better? He hoped the latter, as even he could see a lot of the tensions and fights were for his sake, but the relationship between his brother and his Dad was always too on-and-off to tell.

After some shuffling up the stairs, his bedroom door creaked and Dean stumbled in quietly. Sam hesitated to look at him at first. John had only ever hit Dean once, and even though it had been years ago and John regretted it deeply ( _enough-to-stop-drinking_ deeply) and had never raised a hand to either of them since, there was always an underlying fear of a “next time”.

After all, bruises healed on skin in days, but the brain was scarred forever.

“S'okay, Sammy,” Dean assured him, “Sounded way worse than what it was.”

Sam clenched his jaw and swallowed a lump in his throat as distant thunder rumbled outside. There wasn't much he could ask without sounding stupid. Thankfully Dean knew this already and saved him the trouble.

“He's pretty much convinced I won't graduate,” Dean started, “The Crash Course thing is more of a detention in his eyes. Not really a fix. And, well…”

Sam tilted his head as Dean trailed off.

“If I don't graduate, I gotta enlist.”

“What? Like the Army?”

“Army, Navy, _something_...” Dean sighed before noticing the wallet-sized picture Sam had of Jessica tacked on the wall right next to his pillow. He smiled for a second and sat down on the foot of the bed and then looked up at the ceiling, “I mean, it makes sense, it's not like, cruel and unusual punishment. Plenty of other kids we know have the same deal - like, uh, Ash and Cole. Hell, Cole is already set on joining the Marines whether he graduates or not. And it isn't like Dad didn't serve...”

Dean’s list of examples only made Sam cross his arms. “So what’s bugging you, then?”

“What bugs me is he's treating it like I have an actual choice here and I don't!”

“Dean, you _do_ have a choice," Sam argued immediately, shutting the text book and turning to finally face his brother, "And if you don't want to enlist, then it's obvious. You score super high on these tests and you walk in two months, maybe even get into college afterwards - ”

“ _Sam_.” Dean cut him off, “I don't want... any of that. I don't want to enlist and get shipped off somewhere and I don't want to go to college and just have more of the same crap. I want to just... stay here and help Dad out. God knows he needs it.”

Sam's mouth parted and he hesitated for a moment. “But you can't... you can’t _do that_ to yourself.”

“Do what? Help my _family_?” His brother's defensive shield always glared like a beacon whenever he uttered the word ‘family’.

“No, not... that. I just…” Sam exhaled sharply and shook his head, beyond agitated, “What I mean is, you can't limit yourself to stay put in Lawrence just 'cause of me and Dad. You gotta go do what you wanna do.”

“I want to stay here and just work. I'm not limiting myself. I don't care about anywhere else. I swear. I don't even know anywhere else to go - ”

“Yeah, you do,” Sam insisted, “I’ve seen the road maps all over your walls, you’re basically in _love_ with the Impala - and it’s not because she just looks pretty - and, I mean, c’mon, why else would you walk all the way out to those wheat fields every other Sunday?”

Dean smirked over the sudden dent in his shield. “I just like the quiet, I can think out there and - ”

“You like it because it's just past the city limits.”

Dean's jaw visibly tightened. Sam had pinned him. Again. He'd always been way smarter than his own good, Dean had to give him that much.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, defeated, going for the door, “Want the truth, Sammy? Here goes. Doesn't matter what I want. Never has. Anyways, I'd say ‘see you in the morning’ but I guess I'm gonna be at school tomorrow, so…”

“You're really gonna go then?”

“Not by choice.” Dean said, for the second time that day.

***

Dean didn't sleep too well that night, his mind stuck on vivid images of himself in uniform. To him, it was inevitable, and maybe even necessary. He didn't see himself walking up on stage in an ugly red or black dress and stupid hat as clearly as he did in basic training, or even more dramatically, fighting a distant war that he knew next to nothing about.

He didn't sleep until the early morning hours when finally allowed his mind to wander and later dream of driving the Impala down Route 66, classic rock blasting all the way to the Santa Monica pier in California.

Somebody was riding shotgun, but strangely it wasn't Sam…

***

It was remarkable how different the high school looked on a Saturday morning. Virtually the same, of course, but without any chaotic student versus teacher traffic, or hordes of teenagers crisscrossing every which way they felt like with little regard to the aforementioned. Dean honestly half-wondered if he was late or if the whole Crash Course thing was a joke to make him get up early before he spotted a group of students waiting by the front doors, all with packets that looked like his.

Dean, ever Mr. Cool, leaned against the wall and merely looked over everybody, recognizing none of them and further wondering who else was there against their will or if it was just him. It was honestly hard to tell as everybody looked pretty tired and miserable, save for the only other student leaning against the wall opposite of Dean, away from everyone else, clutching a binder to his chest and glancing around nervously. Wait. Dean knew him. Well, sort of...

“Hey,” Dean greeted, deciding solely on his discomfort of being by himself to approach him, “World History, right?”

Castiel.

Everybody called him ‘Cas’ for short; apparently the additional ‘tiel’ was too troublesome or bizarre to pronounce, but he never corrected anybody differently, even the teachers. Despite his appearance, he had a deep voice and was known to speak rather eloquently for his age. Dean only ever heard him speak a few times in the rare instances he was called on in class, and come to think of it, that was probably the only time Dean ever paid any attention.

Other than that, Dean sat on one side of the room and Cas sat on the other, and that had been the state of things the entire school year. Very seldom did Dean ever see Cas outside of World History, but whenever he did, he always noticed him. After all, it was hard not to spot the beige overcoat he constantly wore. But Castiel, ever the little ghost, would disappear in the crowd before Dean could contribute any more thought towards him. Then Dean would forget about him until he saw him again. He had a feeling that wouldn't be the case anymore after this...

Castiel looked to Dean, squinting a bit, as if trying to recognize him. Either that, or he desperately needed glasses. “Uh, yes?”

“It's... Castiel, right?” Dean prodded. He hoped he wasn't wrong in his pronunciation or he'd be forced to face the awkwardness of getting it wrong for the rest of the damn week. He should’ve just called him ‘Cas’ like everybody else did. Why didn’t he...?

“Yes, and you're Dean Winchester.” Cas answered more than asked, which both impressed and slightly weirded Dean out. Too often Dean tended to forget he was a little on the popular side at Lawrence High and his first and last name were often linked together, same as Sam. People just liked the way it rung, he supposed.

Dean cleared his throat and looked from Castiel to the other students over by the doors. It was odd to finally be striking up a conversation with somebody who was as familiar as they were a stranger.

“So, ah, you here by choice or against your will?”

Cas tilted his head, then followed Dean's gaze to the rest of the group.

“Both.” He murmured.

“Both?” Dean repeated, and shot him a look, to which Cas reacted with a humble shrug.

“I didn't sign up, but I'm here anyways. Same as you, I assume?”

Dean snickered and made a calculated spot for himself next to Cas against the wall, his charisma often taking charge over his ‘hey-you-barely-know-them’ manners. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only a little,” said Cas, whose stance had suddenly stiffened, “I hope this doesn't offend you, but you're the last person I expected to be here.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean agreed, amused, but as Cas suggested, slightly offended too. How did that even work? He decided to spike back, "Take it your grades suck, too?"

“Not for the same reason yours probably do.” Castiel answered matter-of-factly.

“Wo-ow,” Dean laughed, “You’re a little harsh under that whole quiet act, aren’t ya?”

Castiel finally faced Dean, looking even more stiff in his shoulders, “Apologies. That didn’t sound very polite at all. I wasn’t implying that I’m better than you. I... _literally_ only meant that my circumstances are most likely different than yours.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, I...” Castiel answered, looking back down at his feet, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come up and start talking to me today. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, I just feel... unprepared socially.”

“Dude, don’t worry about it. I get it. My bad for comin' up on you outta nowhere. You’re just like, the only person I know here. Kinda.” Dean told him, “I should probably ask - would you rather fly solo through this? 'Cause I can buzz off, it's cool.”

The doors clicked and unlocked, and the thick of the group began to shuffle inside. Castiel hesitated briefly, watching them file in, before admitting, “No, I'd prefer the company.”

“Well, goodie,” Dean said, mirroring Cas's faint smile with a smirk, “At least I don’t have to be in Hell alone.”


	2. Wendigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crash Course proves effective, educationally and socially. Dean develops an unusual interest in Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apology for this late update, I am hoping the next couple ones will be sooner. Big plans for this fic! Thank you for reading and Happy New Year!  
> Musical inspiration: Definitely, Maybe OST by Clint Mansell

Dean had to admit he felt better about Crash Course at the sight of several doughnut boxes and the causal set up of it within cafeteria instead of the classrooms. He sat at a table in the back with Castiel, who was polite enough to let him. Everyone else migrated towards the middle and the front, closer to where the projector was being diagnosed by a few teachers. Dean snickered; for having used the damn things all year, it was always funny to watch them struggle to get them to work every day.

Dean looked to Castiel and caught him staring off at something up in the rafters far above the projector. He followed Cas’s line of sight and saw a small sparrow hopping around and fluttering from one beam to the next.

“Looks like he’s trapped here too.” Dean joked, unable to keep his distaste for the entire situation muted for long.

“That bird has been here all year,” Castiel responded, “I think it’s quite content.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyebrow raised, “Never noticed it before.”

Once the line for breakfast thinned out, Dean managed to swipe three doughnuts onto his plate and Castiel only noticed once they sat back down.

“Did you just - ”

“Don't judge me.” Dean told him before scarfing the pastries down like they were the only source of food he’d had in days, “Three hours. Three doughnuts. I call that fair.”

Castiel almost - _almost_ \- laughed before looking back up at the sparrow for a while. Dean wasn’t sure what was so interesting about it, but figured that maybe Cas just liked birds. But something about the look in his eyes reminded Dean of his father and the way he used to look at the picture of Mary in their living room: an odd, yet sad, reminiscence.

More teachers gathered around the obviously-not-broke projector. Maybe they’d never figure out that the extension cord it was attached to wasn’t plugged in to the wall and the whole thing would be cancelled? One could dream.

“You know what the weirdest thing about school is?” Dean thought aloud between mouthfuls of doughnut, “We've been in the same class all year and I hardly know you.”

Cas just looked down at his own doughnut, still untouched and perfect on the plastic plate. If he didn’t get to work on it soon, Dean might just get away with having four to himself today.

“There's not much to know,” said Cas humbly.

"There's gotta be something, man.” Dean pressed him, “C'mon. I’ll give you the easiest ice breaker in the world: what's your favorite band?”

Dean watched as Castiel hesitated again and prayed that he wasn’t secretly into seventies hair metal.

“I don't really... _know_ any bands.”

“Don’t lie.” Dean snorted.

“I’m being honest.” Castiel affirmed, voice suddenly rising an octave as if to insist said honesty.

“Then what do you listen to? You've gotta listen to something. I promise I won’t judge… _out loud_.”

Cas finally smiled a little but still wouldn’t meet Dean’s gaze, obviously too shy or intimidated to, something Dean was all-too used to.

“I like... classical stuff... like, orchestra music.” He admitted sheepishly, as if awaiting Dean's ‘Bad Taste’ hammer to immediately slam down on him.

Dean, taken slightly off guard, but amused nonetheless, nodded. “Alright. Fair enough. That stuff’s cool. You in band class or somethin'?”

“ _Orchestra._ ” Castiel corrected, “I’m first chair violin.”

“Well, damn. That's awesome!” Dean praised, though he had no idea what ‘first chair’ was. It sounded like it was a good thing, though. “See? Already getting to know you.”

Cas smiled, but then seemed to shift uncomfortably again. Before Dean could ask what was wrong, Mr. Devereaux shouted for everyone's attention and the little bit of fun that had started from the result of unassigned seats and sugar bread abruptly came to an end.

Dean really attempted to stay focused, but found it incredibly difficult. Twenty minutes into the geometry lecture, his notes began to turn into scribbles and doodles. Upon noticing this, Mr. Devereaux wasn't thrilled and decided to sit at Dean and Cas's table for the last half hour of the class, going back over everything to make sure Dean understood while the additional teachers assisted other tables. He consequently checked over Cas's notes as well, as if he were guilty by association. Dean noticed that Cas had extremely small, blue-print style handwriting. He wondered if Cas also took Auto or maybe some kind of design class. Maybe he just had good handwriting, unlike himself.

“What's this supposed to be anyways?” Mr. Devereaux asked of Dean's drawing of shadowy, deer-like monster just under a crooked scribble of an X and Y axis.

“O-Oh, that? Uh. That's a... wendigo.” Dean answered quietly.

“A wen-what?”

“A _wendigo_. Never heard of those? My Uncle has a whole book about them.” Dean explained casually, knowing fully well ‘wendigos’ were something he and Sam had completely made up when they were kids.

As if Dean didn’t have enough judgement over his crappy drawings, Castiel seemed intrigued enough to lean in to see it better shortly before Mr. Devereaux turned the page. Dean fully expected Mr. Devereaux to go off on him, the usual case in his classes, but instead, he decided to use Dean’s little distraction to their advantage.

“Alright, Dean,” Mr. Devereaux said as he started to sketch into the next page, “So say this... _win-dingo_ of yours is snowboarding on a slope, and the angle is like this…”

At first, Dean shook his head, especially since Mr. Devereaux’s version of his made-up monster was more like a stick figure with _more_ sticks coming out of it’s head and snowboarding, but as he watched the example begin play itself out, the solution actually began to make sense to him. Upon the realization, he honestly felt cheated. Had it really been as simple as this the whole damn time? 

He caught Cas smiling in the corner of his eye and smiled himself. Maybe Crash Course wasn’t such a waste of time.

***

After they were released for the day, Dean couldn't contain his satisfaction. “I didn't think I'd learn a damn thing, but like, that was... actually pretty awesome? I mean, maybe it was the free food, but still!”

“I agree it was much more productive than I'd initially believed it would be.” Cas agreed ever so fluently; if anyone else their age spoke like he did they’d be a weirdo to him, but with Cas it came off so naturally that Dean hardly noticed it.

“Right? I mean, I've never seen Devereaux that chill. But I guess if you take forty other kids off his shoulders it's easier... for them and us.”

“That's exactly the reason I was homeschooled for so long.”

“You were homeschooled?” Dean asked. It definitely explained the extent of Castiel’s shy nature.

“Starting in fifth grade and all the way until my freshman year, then my father couldn't afford it any longer.”

“Oh, that sucks.”

“No, I... I've actually _liked_ the experience... most of it, anyways. I always wanted to go to an actual school and have multiple teachers…” Castiel trailed off and scoffed to himself, “I must sound crazy to you.”

Dean just shook his head. “No, man. I get it. I'd probably be the same way. Probably more fun for your, uh, violin class too, huh?”

“Orchestra? Definitely. Though I can't say I've enjoyed very many of the pieces we've played recently, but it's much better than playing by myself all the time…”

“So what don't you like about it?”

“The music we play?”

“Well, I mean, like... public school in general,” said Dean, “Compared to home school, what sucks the most about it?”

Castiel pondered for a moment and looked off at something far across the parking lot, his eyes never seeming to relax on Dean for too long. Dean was sure it was out of shyness, but sometimes it was almost as if Cas were seeing things that nobody else could. He was certainly an interesting character; why Dean hadn't talked to him sooner was beyond him.

“I would say the judgement of it all.” Castiel finally admitted.

“‘Judgement?’” Dean repeated, “That's a little heavy-worded there, don't ya think?”

“What I meant is the groups. ‘Cliques’. Trying to learn things, but also trying to have somewhere to successfully belong to outside of the classrooms. I've found that to… _suck_ the most.”

“Hey, rule number one,” Dean said, putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder, a move he had practiced far too many times with a stubborn little brother of his, “You don't need to belong anywhere here. You just do your own thing, and people either love you or don't care and forget about you after graduation. Hell, that's what I do.”

“I wish it was that simple.” Cas replied, eyes shifting to Dean’s hand and then towards the ground.

"It _is_." Dean insisted, dropping his hand and leading them over to a bench to sit down at.

“I have... certain things that prevent me from ‘doing my own thing’.” Cas explained, placing his binder next to him and his hands into his lap. He finally looked up at Dean, eyes as sad as they were blue.

For some reason, Dean wasn’t buying it. “Like what? Name one good thing.”

Castiel mentally stumbled again and broke the stare. “I… I don't think we should continue this conversation, Dean… it’s nothing to do with you, I’m sure you’re a good person, I’m just uncomfortable talking about this… to anyone.”

Dean’s gaze softened and he tucked his hands into his lap. “Hey, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to push you like that. Hell, here I barely know you and I'm trying to pry you open. If I were you, I'd punch me.”

Castiel grinned again and Dean felt instantly better.

“I don't want to punch you,” Cas assured him, “You're obviously trying to help. It's not that I don't appreciate it or anything.”

Castiel was no surprise to the quiet-kid-being-really-nice cliché. Dean had had plenty of encounters with those types to know, as he basically talked to anyone who would let him. But Castiel was different in a way that Dean couldn’t figure out. Something about him was sincere, and nice, and…

The low rumble of a ‘67 Chevy turning the corner caught their attention. Dean knew that engine hum anywhere.

“Sonuvabitch. He hardly ever picks me up.” Dean grumbled as his father pulled up in the Impala. Whatever calm he’d achieved with Cas was all-but diminished. “Bet you he’s just checking to see if I actually came here.”

It was then that Castiel responded with something to make Dean take pause.

“At least he's checking on you.”

Dean hadn’t really thought about it until then, but in a way, Cas was right. There were some fathers out there who took off before kids were even born. And others that thought keeping the lights on was the only form of affection there was. John, occasional asshole or not, really did care about him and Sammy, and maybe it was time Dean started to acknowledge it a little bit more. At least until his father seriously proved him otherwise.

“Where's your ride at, Cas?” Dean found himself asking.

“I walk.”

Dean wasn’t sure why he wasn’t saying goodbye already. He wasn’t sure why his thoughts kept turning into words. “Want to see if my Dad'll give you a lift?”

“No, it's fine. I'm only the next neighborhood over.” Cas affirmed, “Thank you, Dean.”

“You sure?” Dean asked, once again unable to just say ‘see ya’ like normal. The only thing that finally broke him out of it was the sound of a blaring, impatient honk from the Impala. He looked back over his shoulder. “Alright, I'm comin'! Damn it...” 

Castiel pulled his binder back up to his chest and looked down the street in the direction he was about to leave. “Your father seems to be in a hurry, anyways. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. Cool.” Every single word was regretted. _Shut up, already. Dumbass._ “Uh, see ya tomorrow, then?”

Cas only nodded and Dean turned and went on his way, trying to process what the _hell_ had just come over him before he got to the car. In all his years in school, he had never been so… awkward. His words had came out jumbled and rushed. It was like his brain had short-circuited. Maybe it was the way Cas talked that threw him off; it was enough to probably make his English teachers feel stupid - no doubt there. It could’ve also been how genuine he was, too, not that fake, just-want-to-be-your-friend-because-you’re-popular creatures that Dean usually attracted. Then again, it could’ve also been because it was Saturday and he wasn’t even supposed to be at school. His groove was off or something. Yeah. Definitely that.

“Well,” John huffed, “How’d it go, Dean? Big waste of your time like you said or did you learn some things?”

Dean looked at Cas walking the opposite way in the side mirror before he spoke. “Actually... I think I learned a lot.”

***

John only had enough time to drop Dean back off at the house before having to turn right back around and make his commute to his other job. Dean thanked him for it and was relieved he didn’t ask for too many details about _what_ , exactly, Dean had learned, as a lot of Dean’s thoughts were still circling around how stupid he must’ve seemed to Cas.

“So, how was it?” Sam asked him before he could even close the front door. It would just never end, would it?

“If you're so curious, why don't you take my place?” Dean shot back, setting his packet of papers down. 

Sam only sneered and turned back to whatever he was reading. It didn’t look school-related and on second glance, Dean saw it was one of his own books.

“Hey, what gives?”

“You never finished it and I was bored.” Sam answered, without a shred of guilt, before asking again, “How was Crash Course?”

“It wasn't so bad, I guess.” Dean admitted, ignoring the fact Sam had lock-picked into his room again, “Like, I understand geometry a little better. There's this whole thing with a wendigo snowboarding, and when he's at a ninety degree angle he doesn't move, but when…” He trailed off, noticing Sam giving him a confused look, “Well, I can't explain it to you, but it makes sense in my head, okay? I got it down.”

Then came the next question: “Did you see anybody we know there?”

Dean just shook his head. “Just some dude from my History class and that was about it.”

“That blows.”

“Actually, he was alright. He let me stick with him the whole time so I didn't look even more like a loser, sitting at a table by myself - ”

“I meant that blows _for him_.” Sam corrected, “I don't know what I would do if I was stuck in Crash Course with you for a week. I'd probably just take the ‘F’ instead.”

_“Bitch.”_

_“Jerk.”_

***

Sunday morning went very similar to Saturday, except that they had bagels to choose from for breakfast instead of doughnuts. Totally due to a parent complaint, no doubt. Regardless, Dean, once again, took three of everything and Castiel took only one. Everyone sat at their respective tables from the previous day and the new teachers struggled with the projector once again. The sparrow in the rafters sang and hopped around and Castiel watched it, again. Also like before, Castiel was wearing his khaki overcoat. It looked like the weekends were no exception.

“Aren’t you hot in that?” Dean finally asked, pointing directly at his coat.

Castiel just shook his head and didn’t give Dean any explanation, forcing Dean to switch subjects.

“So, what other classes do you have, Cas? You have any other electives?”

He nodded. “Besides orchestra, theology and a few foreign language classes.”

“A few? Like more than one?”

“A total of three this year.”

Dean leaned back slightly. So much for Castiel being modest; this was borderline-bragging. “Holy crap, man. That’s… a lot, isn’t it? In one year, like, how do you even do that?”

“I’m already bilingual, but I figured that it helps to practice it.”

“Makes sense,” Dean agreed, impressed. If he wasn’t out of Castiel’s league on terms of intelligence before, he certainly was now. “What languages?”

“Spanish, German, and Latin.”

Dean snickered. “Thanks for not saying ‘French.’”

“Why’s that?” Castiel asked, all-too worriedly, “Do you not like France?”

“No! No, France is fine, French is too, but French _class_ …” Dean started to smile as he thought back, and waved his hand. “I, uh, sorta got kicked out of it my freshman year.”

Castiel just blinked at him. “How... did you get kicked out of French class?”

“Actually… I just remembered that I’m not supposed to talk about it, at least not here...” Dean revealed, looking around for any nearby teachers, “Anyways, though! Latin. Latin’s cool. My Uncle is into that stuff, he has a bunch of books about it.”

“And wendigos?” Castiel added. _He remembered._

“And wendigos,” Dean chuckled. “My brother’s taking Latin this year. He’s pretty good. Way better than me. I only know a few phrases..."

“Do you?” Cas seemed eager to test him, faintly smiling.

“Yeah, like, uh… _Úbi sum_ … _auxilium_ uh… oh - _oculi… oculi tui sicut stellas_. Learned that one for the ladies." Dean said with a quick wink, to which Castiel approved with a little nod, “What about you? I bet you know some good ones.”

“ _Oculi tui sicut arbores._ ” Castiel started, “ _Nescio quo vado. Hic contentus sum. In perpetuum._ ”

“Okay, Mr. Show Off!” Dean grumbled as he play-swatted Cas’s empty plastic plate off the table right before the teachers called for their attention.

***

That night, after Sam had gone to sleep, Dean found himself scratching into his notebook the few words he could remember from Castiel’s Latin, pen in one hand and flashlight in the other. He could only remember a few words.

“ _Contentus_ … content… _sum_ … here… _in perpetuum_ … forever…" Dean whispered to himself, looking back over them again. “‘Content here forever’?”

Dean thought about the sparrow Castiel was fond of.

_“I think it’s quite content here.”_

***

Returning to school on Monday was challenging after having spent time there the entire weekend, but Dean’s slight curiosity of seeing Castiel outside of Crash Course was enough to energize him a little more. He wondered if he would run into Cas before World History or not, or where he even hung out in the mornings. It hadn’t occurred to him until then that he probably should’ve asked.

Dean’s constant scanning was noticed by Becky, a straggler that had somehow winded up in their group the previous year. She was a gossiping type, which wasn’t winning her many points in Dean’s book, but she didn’t necessarily bother him either. Not too much, anyways. She wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t really good, either. She was just… _there_.

“You’re pretty quiet today, Dean.” She hummed at him, breaking him from his trance, “Looking for someone?”

“Just people-watchin’.” He answered firmly. Everybody knew: the shorter his answers to her, the better. “Out-of-it today.”

“Did you go to Crash Course this weekend?”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he finally looked at her. Where _that_ had came from, he had no idea - but it made sense she knew because she was Becky. “Yeah…?”

“Oh, well, Amelia was there, too.”

“Who’s Amelia?” Dean asked, though he was hardly focused on the conversation, still wondering if he would catch sight of Castiel anywhere on the campus. Ghost in a trenchcoat, that one...

“Amelia _Richardson_?” Becky repeated in a tone that was nothing other than ‘how do you not know her?’.

“No bells.” Dean said simply, smirking. He was honestly happy that he wasn’t lying. “Sorry.”

“Well, maybe you’ll see her there today. It’s after school all week, isn’t it?”

“Y’know, you’re more than welcome to come and see for yourself. You seem so interested and all...” Dean finally offered, to which Becky scoffed that she had way better things to do and finally scurried off.

***

Dean found himself late for World History, having forgotten his text book in his locker. By the time he stumbled in, the last bell had rung and mostly everyone was seated, including Castiel. Finally. For as much trouble as Dean had trying to catch sight of him all day, he’d started to believe him to be absent. He had to acknowledge he was really relieved to confirm otherwise. He’d hate to sit through Crash Course alone...

Dean caught Castiel’s eyes and he gave him a small nod before conceding to his desk across the room. It was weird to think they had sat this way all year. Dean had to wonder how many other interesting people he’d missed over the school years. Possible best friends. Serious girlfriends. Maybe even future wives. Lisa had been about the closest he’d had until she moved away over the last winter and never called him back...

Some eighty minutes later, they were freed from their desks, and instead of walking out as he had done every other day that year, Dean lingered behind and waited for Castiel to gather his things.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel greeted, but only after the majority of the class had filed out.

“About time you turn up.” Dean joked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he suddenly seemed tense. “What do you mean?”

“I was lookin’ for you all day.” Dean explained, “Wasn’t sure if you even came.”

“You looked for me?” Castiel repeated, as if amazed that Dean would try to find him outside of Crash Course.

Dean just shrugged and adjusted his backpack. “Well, not like a manhunt or anything, but yeah.”

“It’s possible that our schedules differentiate our routes too much.” Castiel suggested, following Dean out into the ever-thinning hallway.

“Hm, yeah. Come to think of it, I’m lucky if I even see Sam around here...”

“Sam is your brother, correct?”

“Yeah, I’d say come meet him, but we’re stuck with Crash crap the whole damn week…” Dean grumbled, and before he could filter himself, asked, “Unless you want to hang out after school sometime…?”

“Uh, maybe.” Castiel answered, all-too distantly.

As they walked the rest of the way towards the cafeteria in silence, Dean inwardly criticized himself again. Why would Cas want to hang out with someone he barely knew? The dude was obviously very guarded and quiet; hardly somebody throwing house parties or actively trying to make friends. It was almost as if Dean was too used to everyone jumping at the chance to have his company. Too many ‘yes’s’ and not enough ‘maybes’ could do that after a while. So could everyone constantly agreeing with him or pretending to like Led Zeppelin or all the other bullshit that came with being popular in high school.

Perhaps that was what made Castiel so intriguing to him.

It was as if Castiel was something suddenly tangible in what had always been an characterless void. Something other than his brother, the Impala, the fields, and the relief of bringing home some money every now and then. Something new and interesting in a hopelessly stale routine.

The two sat at their usual table in the cafeteria and found that having already conquered an entire school day and the lacking presence of free food made Crash Course ten times less enjoyable. At least the sparrow was still around to entertain them, but even it got boring to watch after an hour or so. But whenever Dean felt himself begin to zone out, Castiel would gently nudge his shoe under the table and encourage him to keep taking notes. It was enough to help him stay focused and enough for him to not miss a single question on the practice test towards the end of the lecture.

Three days down, five more to go.

***

“What are your folks like, Cas?” Dean found himself asking at the bench outside.

The late afternoon sun was especially warm that afternoon, signaling the chilly spring was ending soon. Long shadows from the nearby trees danced across old concrete. On the field across the parking lot from them, football practice was underway and an occasional whistle would ring out. Dean noticed that Cas was more interested in a dead leaf that kept rocking back and forth in the breeze near his foot.

“I never knew my mother.” Castiel said as the leaf finally blew away, “As for my father, he’s not very present. He’s an editor for… some company, but also does freelance work. But he spends much of the time sleeping on the couch rather than writing. We don’t really talk.”

“Doesn’t sound fun.”

“Not at all.” Castiel grimaced, “Don’t be mistaken, he’s a good man, but his priorities aren’t.”

Dean nodded sympathetically. He could definitely understand that. Then, as if on cue, they turned their heads towards the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling around the block.

“Tomorrow?”

Castiel nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

***

Tuesday was similar to Monday. Long, tiring, and absent of Castiel until World History. The grind of Crash Course was really starting to set in, especially along with all of the other last-minute assignments. Dean’s largest complaint had to be with an English project being worth a whopping one hundred and ten percent of his final grade; how that was possible or reasonable was beyond him. Working ten hour days at Bobby’s yard seemed to offer less strain than a six hour school day.

The subject of work came up between himself and Cas after the fourth Crash Course session as they waited for Dean’s father, their developing routine.

“It helps to be interested in what you do. I don’t think I’d mind bein’ a mechanic, push come to shove,” Dean explained of his past couple of summers at the wreck yard, “What about you? Have you ever worked?”

“I’ve volunteered a few times over holidays, but I’ve never had a real job,” Castiel explained, “I suppose I’ve been fortunate to have the luxury of choice.”

“Hey. At least you’ve volunteered. Others our age don’t even do that much. Give yourself some credit once and a while.”

Castiel silently nodded, both of his hands clasped together in his lap. The sun was much lower than before; John was either late or not going to show, but neither seemed to mind, both entertained enough in each other’s company and only each other’s company.

“Can I ask you something, Dean?” Cas asked suddenly, finally turning to him.

It hadn’t been often that Castiel had made eye contact with him, often shying away or staring off at the sky. And like the sky, Dean hadn’t really noticed how strikingly blue Castiel’s eyes were. It nearly took him off guard for a moment, along with how serious his tone seemed.

“What’s up?”

Castiel seemed to fight the urge to turn away before speaking again.

“Are we… friends?”

Dean gave Castiel a confused look before chuckling, “Well, yeah… I guess so?”

“Oh.”

“I mean - not like, _I guess_ … but _sure_. I don’t know, I don’t think any of my friends have ever asked if we were friends. We just kinda are, naturally.” Dean smiled encouragingly but Castiel’s eyes were back on the ground. “Um, you _do_ have friends, right Cas?”

“Of course,” Castiel murmured, “Now I feel stupid for asking you something like that. It’s just…”

“What?”

“You’re different.”

“Like how? Like I’m not a nerd or something?” Dean joked, finally getting a little smile from him.

“No. But you’re very popular here, Dean. Myself, my friends. Not so much.”

“Is that why you’ve been so guarded with me? You know half the crap that circulates around here are tall tales, right? I’m just a normal guy.”

“Even so, people tend to think very highly of you, Dean. I don’t think you realize the extent - ”

“Yeah? Well, it’s not something I really care about,” Dean responded shortly, adding, “Or even understand, to be honest. Look, I don’t want you, your friends, or anybody else out there being intimidated by anyone else, but especially me, okay?”

Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder to reassure him, faintly wondering how many others at Lawrence High were wrongfully afraid of him. Just the idea of it made him feel sick. He didn't want to be seen in that way. He wanted to be the hero, not the conqueror.

In the distance, the last rays of the sun had slipped behind the football field bleachers. The sky was blanketed in low-hanging pink clouds and their shadows stretched out far behind them. Football practice was either over or not scheduled, so the campus was as still and quiet as it had been over the weekend. In a way, it was almost as peaceful as the wheat fields.

“I don’t think he’s gonna show today,” Dean said in reference to his father, to which Castiel nodded in acknowledgement.

“Do you live far, Dean?” He asked.

“Nah!” Dean waved him off, “I mean, maybe to _you_. I’ll be fine, though. Used to it.”

Castiel tucked his hands into his coat and smiled. “So, tomorrow?”

“You got it.”

***

Upon arriving home, he found Sam asleep on the couch, his novel facedown on his chest. The absence of the Impala signaled his father was working late, and the cleanliness of the kitchen meant Sam hadn’t made anything to eat for dinner yet. Dean couldn’t find much in the fridge other than half of a jar of marinara sauce and some leftover hamburger meat. 

Spaghetti night was a-go.

Sam woke up to Dean placing plates down on the kitchen table. Though it was obvious that only the two of them would be eating, Dean always put down a plate for their dad, ‘just in case’. When Dean was seven, he used to do the same thing for Mary until John eventually asked him to stop. Then eventually they stopped talking about her all-together. Sometimes Sam really felt it was a miracle they left the picture of her up in the living room.

“What time did you get home?” Sam asked, stretching out the aches from his nap.

“Hour ago, give or take.”

“It’s almost eight,” Sam stated after glancing at the stove clock, “How long was Crash Course?”

“Like two hours, but I winded up talking to a friend for a while.” Dean answered, waiting for Sam to fill his plate first.

“When’s that thing wrap up, anyways?”

“Technically on Friday, but we have this mini-graduation thing Saturday morning.” Dean explained, rolling his eyes, "It's optional, but I think I'm still gonna go. I mean, might as well, right?"

“Do you wanna catch a movie afterwards?” Sam asked, shrugging.

“Yeah, sure, what’d you have in mind?”

“Well," Sam hesitated, “Jess wants to see _Liar Liar_ , I guess it’s funny, Jim Carrey's in it - ”

“Jess? So this is like a third-wheel thing, then?” Dean mock-pouted, ceasing from twirling his spaghetti with his fork for effect.

“She’s a _friend_.” Sam said sternly, “Feel free to bring someone, too. I mean, how hard does Dean Winchester have to ask somebody to go to a movie?”

Dean just smirked, knowing Sam was totally right. There was next-to-no-one who’d turn him down, but the only person Dean could think to ask along was Castiel. The realization stayed on his mind for the rest of the night and he was unable to place why. They were just new friends, after all.


	3. Shapeshifter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without warning, Castiel begins avoiding Dean and won’t tell him why. Dean confides in Sam, who seems to have some ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I wanted but I had a minor plot shift to work through and work schedule was literally all over the place the past two weeks. Sorry! 'o'

Dean couldn’t find Cas the next morning. 

Nor all day.

At first, he thought it was due to their schedules, as had been the case on Monday, but as the day went on, it became more and more apparent that Castiel wasn’t around at all. And unlike before, Castiel didn’t show up to World History or the afternoon Crash Course session. Dean’s notes turned back into wendigo doodles as he was unable to remain focused without Castiel’s company. After an agonizingly-slow two hour session, Dean passed by the empty bench he and Castiel usually waited at, having never been so disappointed in a Wednesday before.

Thursday came with some resolve, but only in the form of brief glimpses. Cas was back, but it seemed as though every time Dean caught sight of him, he’d disappear again. Whatever. He had a tendency to flicker around, and Dean relaxed, figuring they’d catch up after World History later. But strangely, despite Dean having definitely seen him earlier, Castiel didn’t show up. All Dean could hope for now was Crash Course; surely Cas couldn’t afford to skip out again or he’d fail it altogether, right?

Dean legitimately felt relieved when Cas did arrive, even though he was ten minutes late and totally pale and disheveled. Even his binder, once painstakingly organized, was in disarray with several papers jutting out of it every which way, as if he hadn’t bothered to clip them into place the past couple days. Dean wondered if he had gotten sick as Castiel hesitated before coming to the table. He sat visibly further away than before and almost made it a mission to not meet Dean’s gaze, or even greet him, something Dean could immediately sense was not out of his normal timidness.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean whispered to him, but Mr. Crowley was quick to shut down him down.

“If you talk, you won’t walk, and that’s final, Winchester,” Mr. Crowley drawled, “Same for you, Novak.”

Dean didn’t realize that he hadn’t even known Castiel’s last name until that moment.

_‘Novak, huh?’_

Dean begrudgingly held back his concern for Cas through the lecture, barely tolerating Mr. Crowley’s accent and his lifeless explanations of orbital notations. He thought about passing a note several times, but with the way Crowley kept circling their table in particular, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. He swore that Mr. Crowley had a personal vendetta against him ever since the incident in Chemistry his Junior year, and as if to further prove it, he held Dean back - and only Dean - after releasing everyone else so he could thoroughly inspect his notes, which turned into more of a critique over his messy handwriting and various doodles hidden between the pages.

“I never struck you for an artist, Dean,” Mr. Crowley told him, “Fan of the abstract, much?”

Dean’s jaw tightened and he said nothing while Crowley continuously jabbed at him, hoping the entire time that Castiel was waiting for him, but by the time he looked up, the table was empty. Cas had just... _left_. Dean felt as though his chest had suddenly hollowed out. Something was definitely, _definitely_ wrong...

He finally excused himself from Crowley, who really had no legal grounds to hold him any longer, if at all.

Dean darted out of the cafeteria in time to catch sight of Castiel walking away rather quickly himself down the halls to the left. Dean quickened to a jog to catch up to him, finally pinning him in the stairwell between the first and second floor. Only then did Castiel finally stop and turn around, looking nothing short of distraught.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean demanded of him, “What’s gotten into you? Couldn’t even wait for me?”

“You need to go, Dean,” Cas muttered, glancing around for anyone who may have been watching, despite the school being empty, “I can’t talk to you anymore.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, mind racing, “Is... _that_ what this is about? Are you… are you avoiding me _on purpose_?”

“You need to leave me alone. _Now._ ” Castiel told him, voice deepening yet quieting at the same time. His calm demeanor and tone from earlier in the week was practically gone. He had no problem making eye contact - as narrow and as cold as ice.

“Cas, I don’t... what's wrong?” Dean stammered, frustrated, uneasy, confused, and hurt - all of it eventually spilling out into four words: “Did I do something?”

“I…” Cas shook his head and broke away from him, “It’s...”

Dean, finally recognizing the friend he’d seen in Cas for a second, reached out for his shoulder, ready to pull him back from whatever was troubling him. “Hey...”

Castiel jerked away from him and his shoulders stiffened. It tore something within Dean’s chest that he’d never felt before in his life.

“Dean,” Castiel said, eyes shut tight, “Go away.”

Dean, feeling the equivalence of being mentally stabbed, threw his hands up in defeat and stormed off, patience lost and sympathy over with.

“Huh. Some friend you are.” Dean told him over his shoulder, “Forget it. We’re done.”

Castiel watched him leave and remained stationary on the staircase for some time after Dean left, eventually sinking down to sit on the steps.

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

***

Sam didn’t ask Dean what was wrong and wasn’t about to. When Dean was too pissed off to have dinner, or even more importantly, entertain a little homemade _pie_ for dessert - well, that was the kind of Dean Winchester you let cool off for a while. Sam merely assumed it had something to do with the Crash Course finally wearing in on him after six days and the stress of graduation looming on the horizon, and decided to let Dean be to himself. Some good tunes and a good night’s sleep would have him bouncing right back, Sam was almost certain.

However, even the next day, Dean remained livid and skipped breakfast. Sam noticed and cleared away his plate so John wouldn’t take notice. The last thing Dean needed was their father starting in with him.

***

Dean conscientiously honored Castiel’s request to leave him alone. He switched tables at Crash Course on Friday before Castiel arrived, and didn’t so much as glance in Cas’s direction, all the while merely pretending to understand and take notes and slipping further and further away from the curriculum, his mind on an aggravated loop of: ‘screw you, screw your coat, screw your handwriting too’.

As his anger rose and fell in waves, Dean suddenly realized that he hadn’t been this bent out of shape over somebody since Lisa - his last, actually-real, girlfriend.

Why did he care so much about a random dude who’d been nice to him for a few days and pretended not to know him the rest of the time? What was it about Castiel that had his feelings this twisted up? He had _barely_ even been a friend to begin with. They had only a handful of good conversations a few times after school, and if it hadn’t been for Crash Course, Dean never would’ve known him at all.

Maybe it all really came down to Dean’s perception of Castiel being wrong. Here he had thought Cas was a genuinely nice person, only for him to suddenly flip and turn cold. It wouldn’t of been the first time, but at least in previous friendships, however old or new, there had been _some_ red flag suspicions before the betrayal ultimately happened. Dean had taken more than a few stabs in the back with great stride, but Castiel took it to a new level and had utterly blindsided him, leaving him dazed and confused with a knife he couldn’t pull out.

He couldn’t get the image of Castiel glaring at him in the stairwell out of his mind. It was almost as if he had changed into another person, if only for that moment. Whoever had told him to go away wasn’t the same one who spoke flawless Latin or watched birds. The word ‘possessed’ definitely came to mind. With Crash Course finally wrapping up and a noticeable gap between himself and Castiel at the table, the only thing Dean was really certain of - other than being hurt - was something was off with the entire thing and he wouldn’t let it go until he figured out what it was.

***

Saturday afternoon finally came to Dean, who had tossed and turned all night, only finding sleep in the early morning hours - purely from aggravated exhaustion.

It seemed that Sam hadn’t bothered asking him if he still wanted to go to the movies with him and Jessica. Dean figured it was because he knew better, not because he forgot, as he had been keeping his distance since Thursday. Dean ultimately slept through the optional Crash Course graduation. Even if he had slept properly and gotten up early, he figured that he probably would have spent it staring at his ceiling instead. He faintly wondered if Castiel had attended, but urged himself not to care. He eventually thought about heading out to the fields to clear his mind better, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed, consumed with a tedious confusion that constantly squeezed at his chest and throat.

A knocking at his door made him jump; as far as he knew, Sam and John weren’t home. He reached down for the tactical knife (‘borrowed’ from his father) that he kept between his mattress and nightstand. The door handle unlocked, and his brother poked his head in.

“I don’t think murderers knock, Dean.” Sam smiled at him, in response to Dean’s shock.

“Yeah? And I thought you went to the movies,” Dean responded flatly, putting the knife back, “Unless you haven’t gone yet or something?”

Sam shook his head and opened the door a little more, and Dean noticed he was fully dressed and even had his shoes on. “Nah, Jess had to do some errand with her mom, so we’re just gonna go next weekend instead. No big deal.”

Dean just nodded. There was a slight chance Sam was actually telling the truth, but a greater chance that Sam was lying and had deliberately canceled to keep an eye on him. But Dean wasn’t about to argue; he knew as much as Sam did that he needed the company or he’d only continue to waste the entire day away on someone who frankly didn’t deserve it at this point.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on yet?” Sam inquired him gently, crossing the room to sit backwards in the chair at Dean’s desk.

Dean balked for a moment and eventually nodded, sighing, “You ever think somebody’s a cool customer and then they go all shapeshifter on you?”

“Well, I guess so,” Sam pondered, folding his arms over the back of the chair, “But we _are_ in high school… thought that was normal?”

“It is, totally,” Dean agreed, “But… what if this person is like, really, I don’t know - above average?”

“Did you get dumped again or something?” Sam broke in, grinning a bit. He seemed to have forgotten that Dean had a knife within his reach.

“No!” Dean shot back, almost too defensively, “I mean, I... I-I’ll level with you, it totally _feels_ like I did, but… just something isn’t right about what happened. One day we’re fine, and the next… they just start avoiding me like the friggin' plague, like I did something wrong.”

“Well, _did you_?”

“If I did, I have no idea what.” Dean shrugged. He had to admit finally opening up to Sam was relieving some of the pressure in his head, even though the possibility of Sam teasing him later over it was substantially increasing.

Even so, Sam actually seemed to be taking him more seriously. “Well, if you didn’t do anything, and neither did they, then maybe somebody else did. Just saying.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? Third party? Like, threatened them or somethin’?”

“Well, yeah. _Duh_ , Dean.” 

“Why would someone threaten them?” Dean questioned, “We’re hardly even friends, Sammy. I’ve known them for like a week now - tops!”

“Look, Dean,” Sam started, avoiding the sudden fact Dean was this troubled over someone he seemed to barely know, “As much as you try to deny it, you’re one of the cool kids. And with that popularity, you get a lot people that want it, too. Sounds to me like whoever you started talking to lately, a week or not, got the wrong attention for it. Maybe they got scared off by someone. Probably someone close to you.”

Dean sat up as Sam gave him an example of something similar happening in Jessica’s friend group. Someone had apparently taken a liking to someone from outside of the circle and in turn, that person was given a healthy warning in the form of a nasty locker note. The drama that ensued eventually broke up everyone for a month or so until Jessica was able to mend it back. _Someone else._ It more-than-explained Castiel’s sudden switch up. And in their after school talks, Castiel had remarked several times about Dean’s popularity and his uncertainty towards their new friendship. Dean reached up and ran his hand over his face, his frustration and hurt warping into a different shade of anger. He hadn’t even considered the possibility before.

“Can you think of anyone?”

Sam asked.

A few faces came to mind, but Dean had a hard time believing any of his closer friends would’ve gone out of their way to push Castiel away, especially since none of them even knew about their friendship to start with, let alone Crash Course. And even so, why Castiel? There were plenty of other people Dean talked to around Lawrence High, on and off. And not a single one of them held a candle to Castiel’s politeness; as far as Dean knew, Castiel didn’t have a warrant for anything.

“I have no clue, Sammy,” Dean groaned, “I’ve only ever hung out with this guy at Crash Course, and the people there barely know who I am, let alone him, too. And none of my friends even knew I went to Crash Course, so…”

“Are you sure there’s no one in Crash Course you know?”

“Positive.”

“Or your friends know?”

“Yes, I’m - ” Dean suddenly trailed, causing Sam to tilt his head. Dean just looked at him for a moment before he shook his head. “...Becky.”

“Becky Rosen?” Sam repeated.

“Crap. You know her too?”

“Considering she’s madly in love with me, yes, I know her.” Sam sighed, wrinkling his nose, “She freaking asked me out on Valentine’s Day. Two years ago. And I think I was way too nice when I turned her down because she hasn’t _stopped_ … and _no_ , asking Jess out won’t solve anything, so don’t even start, Dean.”

Dean snickered and crossed his arms; he’d let Sam have a free pass today for the therapy session.

“I just remembered the other day, her telling me some friend of hers was in Crash Course. They must’ve been keeping tabs for her…” Dean thought aloud, “But… I mean, she’s a little irritating, but would she really… threaten somebody? What does she have to be jealous about? It’s not like Lisa, this is just some random guy.”

“With her, who knows.” Sam hummed, “Who is this guy anyway, Dean?”

“Castiel. A lot of people just call him ‘Cas’.” Dean explained, faintly remembering sitting on the bench with Castiel after school. With the possibility of a third party interference, suddenly the memory didn’t hurt as much anymore. “D’you know him?”

“No, but I’ve seen that name… oh, I know!” Sam exclaimed, suddenly getting up and leaving to collect a paper pamphlet from his room. When he returned, he tossed it to Dean and took his place back in the desk chair.

Dean looked over the pamphlet for the Lawrence High School Arts Festival and squinted suspiciously at Sam (‘Why do you have this’?).

“Jess is in choir.”

“Of course she is,” Dean muttered teasingly, flicking the pages until he got to Orchestra where he found ‘Castiel Novak’ listed at the very top, scheduled to play at seven ‘o clock the upcoming Friday.

“Kind of an uncommon name,” Sam went on in the background as Dean read over Castiel’s name a few times, “As soon as you said it I knew I’d seen it somewhere.”

Dean handed Sam the pamphlet back, but was suddenly finding it painful to breathe - it was like a razor blade had made it’s way down his throat.

“I just can’t wait until school’s done with, Sammy,” He said suddenly, to which Sam shot him a confused glance. “This popularity crap, school politics. _Judgement._ Cliques, flakes. To hell with it.”

“Hey man, you’re almost out!” Sam reassured him, “Look at me, Dean, I still have three more years of it! You just have a few more months, not even - ”

“Exactly. A few more months. And who knows how many other people’ve gotten threatened along the way, not just Cas - if that is the case here...”

“Dean, I don’t think what happened with Cas was normal. I think you really just need to talk to him about it.”

“Been there, done that.” Dean scoffed, “The dude’s a closed trap. Wouldn’t say anything other than to leave him alone. And I’m not about to ask Becky about it on Monday. Whether we’re right or wrong, she’d spread it to the entire school that I had a fight with him, and the last thing Cas seems to enjoy is attention...”

“Then let her pin herself, Dean.” Sam hinted, “It’s Becky. She’s too curious for her own good. Trust me, I know. If she did have anything to do with it, she’s going to want confirmation somehow. And it’s either gonna come from you, or Cas.”

“This is just the last thing I need right now,” Dean just shook his head and laid back down, exasperated. “The sooner I can just graduate, the better.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit!”

***

The growing hope that either Becky or somebody similar had bullied Castiel into avoiding Dean at all costs began to die by the following Wednesday. Becky hadn’t said anything remotely related to Castiel or Crash Course, or anything remotely interesting at all. Dean honestly began to feel guilty for his assumptions of her, despite Sam’s insistence that they had to be right.

Sitting silently through World History with Castiel four rows away from him had been the absolute worst part of his day, next to watching him gather his belongings and leave the room without even looking in his direction. He thanked God that Crash Course was over, at least. Even so - Dean wanted to confront Castiel again. He wanted to ask him if anyone had threatened him, but something always pulled him back: the possibility that _no one_ had threatened Cas. That Castiel simply just didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, for whatever reason. That maybe he’d come off wrong, or stupid, or too interested. That maybe somewhere in their talks, Castiel was thrown off by something he had said and was too anxious to confront Dean over it, instead taking the easier way out by avoiding him until those memories were just that - memories.

Dean felt the hurt bubbling back up by Thursday, having lost any hope in reconciliation or discovering what had happened with Cas. As he stood in a stupor at his locker, staring at nothing in particular and hating nearly everything, a small voice to his right gained his instant attention - but it wasn’t Becky.

“Hey there, Dean-o.”

Dean looked to see Meg Masters standing there smiling towards him, but he was more-than-confused.

“Meg?” He asked, “I thought you were - ”

“ - Expelled? Ha.” She cut him off and leaned against the lockers next to him, “Just a suspension.”

“You _brought a knife to school_.”

She whistled and continued to watch the students passing by, even waving to a few who only looked at her concernedly. “Boy, those rumors sure spread quick around here…”

Meg Masters was the resident ‘badass’ at Lawrence - though for all the wrong reasons. True to her surname, she was a master manipulator and despite being a top troublemaker, she often dodged any and all repercussions. Most only got along with her as to avoid problems; she seemed to be well aware of it, though. Dean reflected more of a neutrality regarding Meg, and was sure he was only on her... less-than-bad side... due to his popularity. Or more specifically, his looks. When he had been with Lisa, Meg didn't seem to have any problem throwing flirtations his way.

“Yes and no,” She continued, concerning the knife rumors, “It wasn’t real. Prop from theater class.”

“I didn’t know you took theater…” Dean remarked, turning back to the inside of his locker.

Meg just tilted her head up at him and grinned. “I don’t.”

Dean offered her a fake smirk and pretended to shift through his text books. He always felt a certain uneasiness in her presence as he never knew her intentions. She had never really done anything to him or Sammy (as far as he knew anyway), but he never ruled the possibility out. She had started enough fires with other people he knew for him to be cautious…

Castiel came to mind almost instantly.

Dean had never figured Meg as a suspect for Castiel’s sudden shift, as he thought she’d left for good weeks ago. Becky was suspect enough due to her chatty nature, but Meg? She could’ve fit any and all charges, depending. But like fishing, he’d have to bait her if he wanted to catch her. The only thing was, this was one scary fish…

“How long’ve you been back?” Dean asked, avoiding eye contact as he rearranged his books over and over.

“Eh, not long. Came back sometime last week.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised a little. Last Wednesday was the day Castiel started avoiding him… 

“Last week?” He repeated.

“Last Wednesday, if you’d like to update your calendar.” She squinted at him, obviously suspicious about… _something_.

“I just haven’t seen you around anywhere.” Dean returned quickly. It wasn’t like he was lying, right?

“It’s a big school. Happens.” She returned to smiling again, but it wasn’t out of kindness. For some reason, Dean’s thoughts turned to Castiel smiling, and in comparison to Meg, it was like an angel and a demon. Then, Dean noticed the ever-so slight waiver to her grin, as she added, “Besides… weren’t you stuck in detention yourself all last week?”

Crash Course? She knew about it? She knew about it. Dean could feel her reading him and did his best to play it off, even with air catching in his lungs.

“I guess you could call it that,” Dean said, throat tightening, “More like extended school days, but whatever, I muddled through.”

There was only one way this conversation was going to go: downhill. Dean had never felt a tenseness like this before, but he knew had to keep cool if he was going to get any more evidence beyond his gut feeling that Meg was involved. She _had_ to be. In fact, Dean downright _wanted_ her to be, because, despite everything, a part of him still believed in Castiel. With the passing period bell coming close to ringing, Dean inhaled and took a leap of faith.

“Probably would’ve failed the whole thing if Cas hadn’t kept me awake.”

Meg twisted him another grin that wasn’t anything other than recognition. “Castiel, huh?”

“You know him, right?” Dean pushed, no longer pretending to be lost in his locker.

“Who doesn’t know that little weirdo?” She mused, eyes rolling - though, Dean noted it was more out of a sentimental fondness, “Hasn’t changed a smidge since second grade…”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “You’ve been friends that long?”

“More or less,” Meg huffed before glancing back to Dean, “Believe it or not, I like the guy, but it's an off-and-on kind of thing. Mostly him at the switches. Yourself?”

“Uh, same. Maybe just an ‘acquaintance’ is a better word for it. Haven’t really seen him since Crash Course, so...”

“You aren’t the first,” She said thoughtfully and readjusted the books in her arms and turned to watch fellow students passing by, “I wouldn’t take it personally, though.”

Dean felt the faint pangs of his faith beginning to peel back at Meg’s revelations. Maybe he and Sam had been wrong. Maybe there really wasn’t a third party. Maybe Castiel _was_ acting on his on accord. Maybe the guy was just a dick.

“Kind of hard not to,” Dean muttered, joining her in people-watching, “One day he’s asking if we’re friends and the next he’s telling me to never talk to him again.”

Meg turned to him again, interested, but not surprised. “And he didn’t tell you why?”

“Uhh, _nope_.” Dean shot at her, no longer having the energy or faith to fuel cautiousness towards Meg.

She laughed and sighed, shaking her head. “Of course he didn’t…”

“What, do you know something?” He demanded, to which she only smiled more.

“You seem awfully upset over ‘just an acquaintance’, Dean.” Meg commented, stepping back slightly, “Unless it was more than that?”

Dean felt a heat flare up in his face but refrained from looking away. “We were friends. For _a day_.” He insisted, “So what is it you know?”

“Only what he told me. That if you stayed friends, he’d ruin your little reputation around here.” Meg, noticing Dean’s confusion, added gently, “You do know he’s gay, right?”

Dean drew back slightly, taking in her words. He wasn't so shocked about Castiel's orientation so much as he was with the final realization of what had happened, of why Cas had turned away from him so suddenly, why he had been so guarded about what made Dean so fearful of his peers, but most of all, why from the very start, Castiel had been so reluctant to be seen talking to him: he didn't want to dent Dean's reputation because of his _own_.

“Had no idea?” Meg commented, still a little too amused for her own good, “He hides it pretty well these days, so I guess I don’t blame you. Anyways, since that little mystery is finally solved, I’m going before I’m late to Chemistry.”

“Y-Yeah… right. Wouldn't wanna piss off Crowley. Thanks, by the way...?”

Meg finally turned away from him and Dean could only pray she wouldn’t find a way to turn this on him later. Regardless of her help, and strange association with Cas, it was still _Meg_. Even so, Dean did feel the faintest bit of guilt over having blamed both her and Becky for Castiel.

As the bell rung, the halls cleared, and the doors of all of the classrooms clicked shut, Dean found himself still standing at his locker. He couldn’t believe Castiel, and at first, he felt a familiar anger building - why hadn’t Castiel just told him? Why did he ask if they were friends if his intentions weren’t there? But then, just as suddenly, a calm realization washed over the fire, and Dean stopped himself. Castiel probably _did_ have intentions to be friends. What he didn’t have was the courage.

Dean didn’t know what it meant to be gay, or how it felt. He had never allowed the idea as something about it made him internally coil; it wasn’t that he was disgusted so much as there was a major disconnect. Where Dean felt nothing short of a mild reluctance, there were others who absolutely warped it. He heard it in their homophobic language in the halls, he’d heard the rumors, and even heard the fights taking place in the distance - but he had never known anyone who was gay to be able to attach a face to it until now.

It truly made him regret every time he had walked by without saying anything.

***

Dean couldn’t wait for another possible no-show in World History. He needed to find Castiel now. He’d check every classroom if he had to. And check every classroom, he did. At least his ball-and-chain popularity was good for something every now and then and he was able to schmooze his way past every school administrator and hall monitor without hardly any questions. But as a reoccurring theme, Castiel was nowhere. Dean had just about run out of classrooms to check, eventually emerging somewhere near the theater and gymnasium, legs sore from scaling so many staircases at once.

“Damn it, Cas. Come on.” He said to himself. He noticed the clock and knew the next bell would be ringing soon; if only staying put in a classroom passed the time as quickly as running in loops around the building. He ran his hands over his face, readying to give up the search, and then he heard it...

He heard music. An orchestra. A single violin in particular, to be more exact. _Cas._

Dean approached the theater slowly. There were no windows, but the rising volume was enough to confirm that somebody was playing inside, and seeing as he hadn’t found Castiel anywhere else, it just had to be him. Dean slipped into the auditorium and hugged the back wall, grateful that the lights were all off, save for the stage. Nobody seemed to have noticed him come in, too focused on playing. 

Among the entire orchestra, only one musician was standing.

Castiel - alone in the front, dressed in all black, with his overcoat hanging on the empty chair behind him in the front of the violin section. Was that the ‘first chair’ he talked about? He was the lead?

Dean had never taken the time to really watch anyone play a violin before. Or hear it in a way in which it was supposed to be played. His personal taste in classic rock had merely never put him there. He couldn’t tell what Cas was playing, or really how, but it was beautiful, and alive, with a heart and soul of its own. It had feelings, and flowed continuously with every which turn and pull of the bow Castiel was tugging, like an extension of his hand, and as Cas led the dance of the instrument, he was also a part of it, leaning into the turns and shifts, and Dean was entranced by it, momentarily forgetting everything with Meg, Becky, and the last few days for that matter, his heart finding ground with whatever had him stumbling on his words two weeks ago.

Dean could feel it growing up from his chest.

_‘You seem awfully upset over ‘just an acquaintance’, Dean...’_

_‘...unless it was more than that?’_

Dean immediately pushed whatever he was beginning to feel back down - whether out of instinct, or fear, he wasn’t sure. But there was a part of him that felt it was wrong for stopping it, but another part that felt it was just as wrong for even feeling it in the first place...

Castiel’s playing suddenly crescendoed, pulling Dean away from his conflicts and back to him, the deep swaying of the orchestra behind him lifting him to higher and higher notes, before all-too suddenly slowing once more into utter silence to an invisible audience - save for Dean. A stillness, and then a breath, and the rattle of students placing their instruments back into their laps and the gradual chattering.

Their teacher, standing at the podium in the middle, reminded them about dress attire for the concert, before excusing everyone back to the classroom to pack up their instruments before the next bell. Dean, still an unnoticed shadow in the back, watched as the teacher beckoned Castiel down from the stage to correct something. What needed correcting in whatever beautiful thing Cas had just played was beyond Dean’s comprehension, but then again, he didn’t know a thing about classical music or even what every other instrument was. All he saw besides a piano and harp was a violin, a bigger violin, a really big violin, and a gigantic violin. And for all he knew, Castiel had sucked just now... but he doubted that very much.

By chance, Castiel was stalled long enough for everyone else to have left the theater, and the teacher left him to tend to the rest of his class outside. Only then did Dean call out to lone violinist still looking over his piece notes in front of the stage.

“Castiel!”

Castiel was visibly startled, and upon seeing Dean, a mix of sorrow and shock set into his features. “Dean…”

“Cas, that was… really good. I mean, when you said you play, I didn’t know it was like _that_.” Dean found himself commenting, suddenly remembering what had brought him to the theater in the first place.

“Why are you here?” Castiel asked, ignoring his compliments, almost sounding annoyed as he slid his violin case towards him, his back to Dean. His coat was still hanging over the chair and Dean noted that he was less slim than he appeared to be underneath it all the time.

Dean allowed Castiel to set his violin away and zip up the case before he spoke. “‘Cause... I needed to hear it from you. And not the damn rumor mill...”

“So you've… found out, then...?” Castiel questioned slowly, fingers pausing on the latches of the case.

“You need to tell me yourself, Cas.”

“If you already know, then there's no point in me telling you anything.” Castiel explained coldly, but unlike the last Thursday, Dean could see right through it. “You need to leave before it gets worse.”

“Not happening.” Dean said, crossing his arms.

“Dean, I'm telling you. It _always gets worse_.” Castiel said over his visibly-tight shoulders, “It's pointless for you to be caught up in my problems...”

Dean made another leap of faith, and grabbed Castiel’s shoulder again, but unlike last time, Castiel didn’t swat him away. Instead, Castiel turned to him, looking more hurt and afraid than anything else.

“Let me make this perfectly clear to you…” Dean said, “You're my friend. Got that?”

“Dean…” Cas started, having made the mistake of meeting Dean’s eyes and finding himself unable to turn away, “I understand. But…”

“Talk to me.”

Much to Dean’s relief, Castiel nodded and sat down in one of the theater seats and left his violin case on the stage. Dean took the seat next to him and they both ignored the passing bell ringing. Castiel waited to speak until after the next bell, once the theater was perfectly quiet again. They wouldn’t be disturbed for a while, and both seemed to find comfort in the darkness of the invisible audience and orchestra.

“I never meant for anyone to discover my orientation.” Castiel finally began, “At first, I didn’t think it mattered, or that anybody would even notice. How people initially figured it out, I still don’t know. Perhaps it was because I turned away a few girls who had asked me out over the years. Or maybe because I’m quiet and organized. Or because I know how to play the violin. Apparently, there are a lot of things that indicate you’re gay. I may be wrong, but something about coming to a public school made me realize, that, even without speaking, people are going to judge and label you, and every so often, they’ll get it right…”

Dean nodded quietly, as Castiel continued.

“...I felt there were only two options. To either deny it, or to admit to it. I felt as though lying to myself would be more difficult, but obviously safer. So I lied. For an _entire year_. Until, in a moment of upset in my sophomore year, I admitted to it. And even though it didn’t circulate as widely as I thought it would - _you_ not really knowing, for instance - I knew right away that it wouldn’t impact myself so much as it would impact others. My brothers and sisters in other schools, friends I already had… _potential friends_ …” Cas paused, glancing at Dean as if he didn’t already know who he meant, “But I suppose it never bothered me very much, because, for the most part, my family and friends were… nameless. From my experience, there’s very little you can do to a person who lacks a certain status in high school…”

“So when Dean Winchester came along and started chatting to you, you freaked out?” Dean finished.

“Precisely.” Castiel confirmed, “From the very second you walked over to me that weekend, I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to be rude, but... I didn’t want to push you away, either. It’s not as if I don’t have a lot of friends here, Dean. I have quite a few. I truly didn’t need your company for Crash Course. I would have been fine by myself.”

“Geez, Cas - ”

“But I _wanted_ your company, Dean. Because you were kind to me, without having known me. Somehow, you were able to open me up within a couple of days when there are friends I’ve had for years who still don’t know that I don’t have a mother. But despite everything we talked about, I failed to tell you that one particular detail… because I was afraid.”

“You know I don’t care, right? And that I wouldn’t of cared?”

“I felt you would say that, but my fears stemmed more from how the rest of the school would begin to see you, befriending someone _like me_ ,” Castiel admitted, “So, despite everything, I knew I had to end whatever friendship was forming between us. I did it for you.”

Dean sighed and ran his hand over his mouth. He wasn’t so sure if his relief matched his discontent for his unwanted popularity anymore.

“First thing’s first, I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I told you that, day one.” Dean explained, “And, after you pulled that with me last week, I just knew something wasn’t right about it. Not gonna lie, you had me pissed, Cas. I friggin’ lost sleep wondering what happened with you. I wish you would’ve just told me all of this in the first place, instead of pushing me away like you did...”

Castiel looked down, hands clasped together. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just...” Dean corrected gently, “Next time, talk to me about it. Don’t ever shut me out again.”

“Again?” Cas repeated, looking back up to him, “You mean, you still want to be my friend? Even though I'm...”

Finally, Dean cracked a smile. “Uh, _yeah_. I think you’re cool. And I don’t care who you like. That’s not my business, it’s yours.”

“But I don't understand.” Castiel asked, a familiar, yet faint panic setting back in his features, “What about you? Aren’t you concerned about your reputation?”

Dean looked thoughtfully up at the stage, his eyes eventually resting on Castiel’s coat.

“You know what actually lasts past high school, Cas? Friends. Not your reputation. And if I had to choose between the two, I’m sorry, but I’d rather have you.”


	4. Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, here's _Wonderwall..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspiration for Castiel's violin solo: ["Awaken" by Dario Marianelli](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y38EhZfR3XU)

If Sam had asked Dean to come to the Lawrence High School Fine Arts Festival at any other point in time, Dean would have not only told him no, but would have laughed at him for having even asked. Despite his tendency to draw out of boredom, Dean never considered himself an artist. The closest he ever achieved was probably in Wood Shop, in which he’d made about a dozen generic chests. Lisa had taken Photography and used him as a model a few times (not necessarily _against_ his will), but he never understood the appeal of it. Musically, Lawrence didn’t offer any guitar classes - so he was out there, too. But luckily for Sam, Dean had a certain violinist friend to support that night, so Sam never had to ask.

Dean’s peculiar eagerness didn’t go unnoticed by John, who was sitting quietly on the couch, television off for once and glasses on. He had a lamp pulled close and was writing chicken-scratch in his leather-bound journal that neither Dean or Sam had never been able to look through (he always carried the damn thing with him - even to the bathroom).

“Party tonight, Dean?” John asked, pausing from his writing to look over his oldest, who had dressed in what he could only describe as more neatly than normal - if a new red flannel, clean jeans and boots counted as such.

Dean, momentarily caught off-guard by John’s observance of him, straightened his shirt and shook his head. “Uh, no, actually it’s... the Arts, uh, whatever-deal. At school.”

“Fine Arts Festival, Dean!” Sam called from somewhere upstairs.

“Yeah,” Dean echoed, gesturing towards the ceiling, “ _That_.”

John raised an eyebrow and turned back to his journal. “Kind of unlike you to be into artsy stuff, ain’t it, Dean?”

Dean swallowed anxiously, knowing John had never seen any of his drawings before. “I’m just going ‘cause Sam’s girlfriend is singing in the choir.” He lied.

“She is _not_ my girlfriend!” Sam shouted, so loudly that John and Dean looked up in unison.

Dean then shot John a small smirk, whispering, “Totally is.”

John, often stone-faced, surprisingly returned the smile, though just for a second. It was instances such as these that Dean realized just how much his Dad didn’t smile anymore, and he truly didn’t know how to feel about it.

“What about you?” John quizzed him, “Anyone I should know about?”

“How about Cas?!” Called Sam, before Dean could answer.

“Cas?” John repeated, peering at Dean from over the rim of his glasses.

“They’re a friend!” Dean insisted, blood rushing to his face.

“Yeah! Exactly! Just like Jess is a friend!” Sam replied.

“Bitch!”

“Jerk!”

“BOYS!” John’s voice boomed enough to rattle the house, and Dean couldn’t help but back against the nearest wall - in this case, the front door - as his father suddenly rose up from the couch.

Dean, frozen, watched John round the staircase and into the kitchen, then return, stopping just short of Dean and the front door. He raised his fist out towards him; Dean nearly flinched - right before the most beautiful car keys in the world slipped down to dangle underneath his fingers. Dean’s mouth parted into disbelief and he looked from the Impala’s keys to his father.

“Here’s the deal,” John began, “You _only_ drive to the school. You make sure she’s locked, and double check...”

John tossed the keys to Dean, who, though in shock, was still somehow able to catch them. He looked down at them, then once more to his father, only able to silently gawk (“Are you sure?”) to which John merely nodded and pulled out his wallet.

“Get yourself some food on the way back,” John suggested, handing Dean the equivalent of thirty dollars, “I want you home no later than ten. Got that, Dean? And not a single - ”

“N-Not a single scratch, I swear!” Dean promised as Sam finally lumbered down the stairs, dressed a couple notches up from Dean in a freshly-ironed blazer and slacks.

“Tch. Show off.” Dean muttered, as John patted Sam’s shoulder supportively before retiring back to the couch with his journal.

“No later than ten, boys.” He reminded.

“Yes sir!” Dean answered him, flashing the keys at Sam who fell into equal shock and excitement.

They emerged outside, faces hit with a cold breeze. Spring hadn’t quite settled into Lawrence just yet.

“He let you have the car?!” Sam exclaimed, as Dean practically skipped to the Impala, resting peacefully in the clear light of the moon.

“I’m not questioning it!”

As Dean took the driver’s seat and Sam shotgun, he let his hands linger on the firm leather of the steering wheel for a few seconds. Sam honored his enthusiasm, allowing him to soak in the moment of finally being able to take the Impala out by himself for the first time.

“I’ve gotta be dreaming,” Dean whispered as he placed the key into the ignition, “I’ve gotta be dreaming…”

With three clicks, the car rumbled to life with a deep growl.

Dean turned to Sam, and held out his arm. “ _Sam._ ”

“Come on, Dean!” Sam whined, reaching out to pinch his brother’s arm (extra hard, of course), “We’re gonna be late!”

*** 

Lawrence High, penitentiary by day, candle-lit art installation by night. Even Dean had to admit to Sam, as they parked, that their school actually looked _welcoming_ for once. The parking lot was almost full, and many families were still arriving; for what it was worth, it put the few-and-far-between football games Dean had attended over the years to shame.

“Pretty big deal, huh?” Dean acknowledged, stopping to allow a few families to cross the street.

“Guess so,” Sam shrugged, “It’s my first one.”

“Yeah, me too…” Dean sighed, a shadow of regret suddenly settling over his mind as he remembered Lisa attempting to invite him to one to see her photos on display and him having put it off for something completely forgettable. It was no wonder she had never called him back after she moved away. And to think, Castiel had probably been playing that year, too.

Dean noticed that he had been feeling these minor regrets a lot more often after having met Cas, who had opened up an entirely new idea of what it meant to be in high school. Dean had been so consumed with not caring, and the idea of school just being over, that he had missed out on what he’d considered guilty pleasures. He should’ve went to more of these art things. He should’ve went to Senior Prom. He should’ve joined the Robotics Club. He should’ve done a lot of things…

But maybe, after everything, Sam had been right all along: it wasn’t too late to try.

After a proper park job, Dean assured the Impala was nestled safely away from most of the other cars and double-checked she was secure as requested before making the walk through the parking lot with his brother. Where the pointed regret for missed opportunities in high school continued to linger, Dean also felt a strange excitement rising within him. He could only imagine how nervous Castiel was, prepping for his performance. But if it was anything like the preview Dean had witnessed the other day, he had nothing to worry about.

The main entrance and hallway was packed with students and parents, but still nothing near the chaos of a regular school day. The theater doors were opened, and a few theater students were beckoning people to come see the music performances, handing out pamphlets like the one Sam had shown him. Across from the theater, the gymnasium had been turned into an art installation, featuring student drawings, paintings, and photographs. The best works, as deemed by the staff, were locked in glass display cases with ribbons, right next to the football trophies.

“When’s Jess go on?” Dean asked Sam, before added, “Probably want to get a good seat, right?”

“Five minutes, Dean - I told you to hurry for a reason!” Sam realized, tearing away towards the theater, “I hope it’s not packed…”

Luckily, they found two open seats three rows from the stage from a couple who had managed to get into an argument. 

“Don’t miss that any.” Dean said under his breath, causing Sam to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, and here you want me to hook up so badly…”

Dean turned to his brother and crossed his arms. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Well, it gets old.” Sam admitted, also crossing his arms.

Dean sighed to himself and looked to the stage. Acoustic shells were set up in a half-circle around several raised platforms, with a piano off to the side. Just behind one of the shells, Dean could make out the harp to be used for Castiel’s group and he felt another pang of excitement as he imagined Cas taking the stage with his violin.

Dean found himself staring off at the two seats in the front where they had reconciled the previous day, broken out of it only by the lights turning off and Choir filing onto the stage. The audience roared with cheers and applause until the very last member stepped onto the platform. It took Dean a good minute or two to recognize Jessica as she had her hair up for once; Sam had spotted her immediately, of course, and they exchanged silent words from afar. Dean noticed, but didn’t say anything, and only grinned.

Choir began not a minute past six thirty, and performed a decent variety of both classical and modern songs, all of which otherwise boring to Dean until a particular rendition of a rock song came up that he felt honored the original enough to avoid whispering any criticisms to Sam, whose eyes never switched away from Jess for too long. After they took a unison bow and exited the stage, several students from Theater rushed in and began to set up chairs and stands for Orchestra. Dean’s hands tightened on the armrest of the chair.

“Castiel is next, right?” Sam asked him, flipping through the program pamphlet.

Dean only nodded, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. Why on Earth was he beginning to feel nervous? It wasn’t like _he_ was about to go up there. Regardless, the theater was jam-packed. How was Castiel feeling, knowing just as well how many eyes were about to be on him. Was Dean channeling his energy somehow?

After the risers were removed and the acoustic shells shifted backwards, a half-circle of chairs and stands began to form. A single podium for the conductor fell with a boom in the front, and the lights were dimmed once more. The bass section came first, followed by the cellos. After the larger instruments were situated, the smaller violas and violins filed in. Castiel was neither first or last, but took his spot in the first chair and began to wait quietly, paying no mind to the audience. He didn’t even give it a glance, and Dean honestly didn’t blame him. 

A girl with pretty, dark red hair came out last and took to Castiel’s other side, whispering something to him to which he shook his head and pointed at something on the sheet music. She smiled to him and Dean made out a ‘thank you’ before they sat down together.

Castiel had a short, yet fitting, black tuxedo over a white dress shirt with a dark blue tie, in sharp contrast to his usual, over-sized beige coat that he’d finally abandoned for the concert. Definitely not his choice. He wore his usual black slacks and dress shoes and also looked like he had styled his hair back. Other than his attire, he didn’t seem as nervous as he was carefully focused. 

Sam suddenly nudged him and Dean realized that he had probably been staring at Cas for too long. “Is that Castiel?” He asked, pointing, “He’s concertmaster?”

“Concertmaster?” Dean questioned, turning to Sam, “Uh, he just said he was First Chair.”

“Same thing,” Sam explained, “That’s like the most important player in an orchestra, Dean. Usually the best, too.”

Dean exhaled softly as the teacher took to the podium and brought the orchestra to tune before bringing them, and the audience, to a whispered silence. Someone coughed a few rows back. The conductor tapped his stand with the baton. The entire orchestra stilled and brought their instruments to position. The person coughed one more time and Dean caught Castiel and the red-headed girl smiling in mild annoyance. The conductor’s arms rose and so did the orchestra’s battalion of bows. A quick breath, and then it began.

The set began loudly, and the songs were played quick. At several points, Dean noticed the hairs of Castiel’s bow breaking off as he kept his entire section in tempo. Where others seemed to struggle at certain parts, Castiel played effortlessly and almost looked to be bored at times. It all sounded good for what it was, a high school orchestra, but it wasn’t what Dean had heard the previous day - at least not until an applause concluded the first ten minutes and Castiel suddenly stood up.

The pianist and harpist took their spots, and Castiel raised his music stand to eye-level, leaving the red-haired girl to lead his section. He took the small rest to rip away the stray hairs from his bow, but still, avoided looking at the crowd and instead to the pianist. Dean sat up straighter. His brother mirrored his attention and leaned forward, more out of curiosity than anticipation.

The piece began with a solemn, delicately-played piano for an entire minute before, like the first breath after a coma, the orchestra and Castiel very slowly and softly began to build underneath it, allowing the piano to drift away, towards the background, where it subtly transformed into a harp. The orchestra went away, leaving Castiel to play alone. His notes remained no stronger than whispers, echoing the orchestra, disjointedly at first, as if trying to find his way, while the section behind him triggered a chain-reaction of growth, calling back for him and then stilling as if to listen. Castiel went on to produce deep, rich notes, complementing the fragility of the distant harp for a short, but beautiful measure, until the orchestra gradually came back to find them.

It slowed one final time, to almost complete silence, until rather suddenly, a single violin tore away, rebelling from the swells of the others beneath it to cry out - to sing - something wordlessly sad, but beautiful.

Dean’s breath caught as Castiel played the final solo, his sounds chased upwards by the rest of the orchestra until he could no longer be conquered, his notes reaching higher and higher, past the ceiling, past the sky itself, to something beyond everything, before finally reconciling with the group and settling back down to silence as gently as a falling feather.

A few seconds of silence passed before the conductor’s arms came down and he turned around to bow. The instant and almost-deafening roar of the audience cheering that followed made Dean jump from his trance, and it took him a moment to start clapping himself. The spotlight shifted from the conductor, then to Castiel, who took a proper bow, before the pianist and harp player, and then the entire orchestra.

All of the lights of the theater slowly turned back on for an intermission between Orchestra and Band, and the audience began to swarm back to life with excited chatter and shifting around, and Dean looked for anybody as remotely impacted by Castiel’s performance as he was, but found himself to be alone; even Sam, though obviously impressed, didn’t seem as though his world had just changed. Then again, Dean also supposed he was a tiny bit biased...

“He's a pro,” Sam commented finally, watching as Castiel departed the stage with his violin in hand, “Wanna head back out before Band starts? Jess is probably waiting for us.”

“Uh, y-yeah, let’s go,” Dean nodded, rising from the seat. He gave the stage one final look over his shoulder, taking it and Castiel’s performance to memory.

Just as Sam predicted, Jessica was waiting from them by the doors, and Dean watched as his brother pulled out a single rose from the inside of his blazer and handed it to her. She lit up and reached up to hug him, and he watched them fondly for a moment before movement from the music hall caught his attention. Castiel emerged from the departing orchestra class, with his violin case held at his side. His hairline was damp with sweat and he’d already loosened his tie. He smiled sheepishly at Dean, obviously unsure of how Dean had perceived his performance. Dean didn’t hold him in suspense for long.

“Cas, uh, that was _great_ ,” Dean assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Like, really great!”

Dean wasn’t sure why he didn’t use more honest words, like ‘amazing’ or ‘beautiful’ or ‘awesome’. No words really described it. Music had a way of going beyond words. Certain people had a way of going beyond words...

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas bowed his head, “I’m relieved to have avoided certain disaster. My bow almost broke entirely.”

“Bow...?” Dean questioned, turning his head.

“The… uh, stick.” Castiel explained, making a mock-movement with his arm.

“Oh, right. I knew that.” Dean smirked, before noticing Sam and Jessica walking back towards them.

Castiel looked up to Sam in the same way he had first looked at Dean, squinting at first before a flicker of recognition followed by immediate hesitation. Dean placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, then motioned to his brother and Jessica.

“Hey guys, so, uh, Castiel. My brother, Sam. And Jessica.”

Sam properly reached out to shake Castiel’s hand and Jessica offered a small wave. Castiel returned the gesture and seemed to relax a little more.

“Dean’s said a lot about you,” Sam started, to which Castiel shot Dean a worried glance.

“Likewise,” Cas answered, readjusting the violin case in his other hand, “He told me that you also take Latin and you’re rather good.”

Sam chuckled. “If by ‘good’ you mean better than him, then sure.”

“Aw, Sam, that’s mean!” Jessica chided, play-swatting him with her rose.

Dean merely held his hands up in surrender. “No offense taken. Honestly. I beat him at everything else, so it’s cool.”

“Everything else except paper-rock-scissors.” Sam added quickly.

“Do you really want to do this right now?” Dean sneered to his brother, holding out a fist over his palm, as Castiel and Jessica exchanged confused looks.

“Hey, uh, do you guys want to check out the art?” Jessica asked, to which Sam dropped out of the duel and instantly agreed. In Dean’s eyes, this was a forfeit - he won. Finally.

Dean looked to Castiel who was using his tie to dab the sweat off of his face, and waved the others off. “Hey, we’ll catch up. I think we should grab something to drink, yeah?”

“I would be much obliged,” Castiel sighed, following Dean to the refreshment stand line.

“Y’know, for somebody who sports a trenchcoat all year round, it’s weird to see you sweating,” Dean teased, “Seriously though, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel assured, “The stage lights run hot… that, and well, I suppose I was a little nervous, too.”

“A little?” Dean repeated, snatching a pair of cups from the table.

“Maybe a lot,” Castiel remarked, reaching for another cup, “But nothing too troublesome.”

“Cas, I got your cup right here,” Dean said, to which Castiel laughed to himself, making Dean’s brow furrow, “What?”

“Oh, I… I thought you were getting two for yourself,” Castiel explained hesitantly, “You usually take however much you can hold…”

Dean just laughed in response and shoved the spare cup Castiel’s way, thinking of the extra doughnuts he’d taken back in Crash Course. He couldn’t blame Cas for assuming his tendency to indulge wherever possible, and, at the same time, found that he liked the fact Castiel remembered the smaller details in life. Whether it was sparrows around the school or Dean’s eating habits, Castiel honestly should’ve been one of the school’s historians.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Dean told him, looking over the three beverage dispensers to choose from, “Let’s see, we got water - just ‘water’ - ‘Lucky Lawrence Lemonade’, and… ‘Cotton Candy Punch’? The hell?”

“I think I’ll be having the ‘just water’,” Castiel said, as Dean looked between the lemonade and bright pink punch.

“Boring,” Dean commented, eventually deciding on the Cotton Candy Punch.

Castiel seemed surprised by his choice. “I thought for sure you would prefer the lemonade.”

“The name was dumb,” Dean explained, “Besides, nobody can make it like my mom used to.”

***

Inside the gymnasium, student art from throughout the year was tacked up in semi-straight rows. Most of the photography looked the same, Dean noted, and only a few shots caught his eye: one of the sky, shot from beneath bicycle spokes, and another of a classic car engine. Castiel found one somebody had taken of a bird sitting on an old wooden fence and Dean couldn’t help but smile a little.

“You like birds, don’t you, Cas?”

“It’s mostly their wings,” Castiel answered, eyes still studying the photograph closely, “The ability to fly, to remove myself from almost any situation... it’s something I’ve often felt very envious of, and wished for...” He finally looked away to meet Dean’s gaze. “Does that sound… strange?”

“Nah,” Dean patted his shoulder, and gestured to the photograph of the engine, “I think I can relate. I just prefer cars instead of wings. A little more practical.”

Castiel smiled, but before they could continue, a red-headed girl caught Dean’s eye, talking among another group in front of a set of paintings across the gym. Castiel followed his gaze.

“Is she the one who played with you?” Dean asked him.

“Yes, that’s Anna,” Castiel answered, “And Inias and Uriel. They’re all in my violin section.”

Anna looked up to see them looking her way and waved them over.

“Castiel!” Anna sang, half-hugging Castiel, her arm equally taken up with a violin case. The others had theirs slung on their backs. “Are you feeling better?”

Castiel raised his water cup as an answer as Anna’s attention drifted to Dean. She smiled a little too-knowingly.

“Not sure if we’ve met before, I’m Anna,” She greeted, “Dean Winchester, right?”

Dean forced a smile, but before he could feel too bothered by yet another stranger in the high school knowing him by his full name, Uriel cut in.

“I think you’re supposed to let him introduce himself, Anna.”

Anna squinted and mock-hit her forehead with her palm. “Oh, right - that was really rude, wasn’t it? Sorry...”

“You’re good,” Dean assured her, watching as she turned back to Cas.

“So, what do you think?” She asked him, gesturing to the paintings tacked up behind her, “And be honest!”

“Like Castiel is ever _not_ honest...” Inias chuckled.

“ _Overly_ -honest.” Uriel corrected, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Dean admittedly felt some warmth in seeing Castiel’s friends talking of him so freely, just as when he’d seen Castiel on stage talking with Anna; it had been so easy for him to assume Castiel was a loner, despite him mentioning he had plenty of other friends. Dean figured it was just nice to see it for himself, and to see that Castiel was no different in their company as he was with Dean.

“There are bristles stuck beneath the paint here,” Castiel was saying to Anna, “Was this intentional?”

“Okay, so not at first, but I didn’t notice it until after it had dried, so I decided to make it a ‘stylistic choice’!” Anna insisted. She turned to Dean suddenly and shrugged, “I mean, that’s what all good art is in the end, right?”

“Uh, right,” Dean grinned, looking over her painting of what appeared to be a church with a giant, oval stained-glass window.

“Hmm…” Castiel murmured, side-stepping to the next painting of what looked to be terrified faces, outlined thickly. “‘The Rising of the Witnesses’...?”

A lightbulb went off - Dean knew he had read that before. “That’s like a Revelations thing, right?”

“See! Dean gets it!” Anna said directly to Inias, who shook his head.

“I didn’t say I didn’t _get it_ , I said I didn’t _like it_! Freaks me out.”

“ _You_ freak me out.” Anna shot back teasingly, turning to Dean again. “Do _you_ like it?”

Her eyes were as dark and intense as her paintings, and Dean felt himself caught in them every time she looked at him. “Um, sure. I mean, it’s better than anything I can do...”

“I found your wendigo drawings to be rather good, Dean,” Castiel said from over his shoulder, pulling Dean’s attention back.

As Castiel moved on to Anna’s third painting of a building with several jack-o-lanterns and a shadowy man standing in the middle of a road, Dean had to down the rest of his drink, throat suddenly feeling thick upon Castiel’s sudden compliment. He figured it was more out of embarrassment out of remembering Castiel had even seen them in the first place, but then again - apparently Castiel was overly-honest.

“Okay, so most important question of the night...” Inias started suddenly, “Where are we eating?”

“I thought we all decided on Fat Mack’s?” Anna said, to which Uriel wrinkled his face.

“We ate there last time.” He revealed, crossing his arms.

“So what? It’s good!” Anna insisted, once again, turning to Dean for his input, “Have you ate there?”

Dean shrugged. He wasn’t really sure why Anna was so interested in his constant input. “Long time ago.”

“What’s your suggestion, then, Uriel?” She said, purposely mirroring him by crossing her arms.

Uriel seemed amused by her, if anything. “How about Conner’s?”

“I guess that works...” Anna sighed.

“I got food poisoning there once.” Inias jutted in, receiving glares from the rest of the group.

As the three bickered on where to go, Castiel watched them quietly, eventually swinging his violin case over his shoulder. Dean knew that he and Sam had been planning to go to the Roadhouse with Jessica, but hadn’t asked Castiel if he’d had plans after the festival, instead, mildly assuming Cas might feel like tagging along with them. Despite his slight disappointment, he at least felt some relief in knowing Castiel would have company regardless.

“What about you, Cas?” Inias asked, “Anything that isn’t Conner’s or Mack’s?”

“Perhaps Biggerson’s?” Castiel suggested, receiving instant backlash in the form of exaggerated groaning from all sides. He sighed and looked to Dean (‘Help me’.)

Dean smirked and cleared his throat. “Well, me and my brother were gonna make a pit-stop at the Roadhouse on the way home. Wanna meet up with us there?”

Castiel’s garrison of violinists looked between each other and nodded in agreement, and at last, all was right with the world.

***

As they headed out of the gym, Dean spotted Sam and Jess looking at the display case art.

“You two ready?” He asked, to which Sam turned and motioned for him to come over.

“Dean, check this out,” He said, pointing to a rather detailed painting of a unicorn with a second-place ribbon.

“Uh, okay. Unicorn.” Dean said, looking over it closely.

“Look who it’s by.” Sam reiterated.

“Meg Masters?” Dean read aloud, exchanging surprised looks with Sam. “Didn’t peg her as a unicorn fan.”

“You know Meg?” Castiel asked, coming to his side.

“I think everyone in the school knows her.” Jess said, though her tone seemed stressed, “Where are people getting that pink slushy from?”

“Cotton Candy Punch,” Dean answered, “S’pretty good.”

Dean watched Sam and Jess head for the refreshment stand before turning back to the painting.

“Meg was one of the first friends I ever had.” Castiel confirmed.

Dean remembered Meg’s history of him from the other day, but still found it odd to hear it coming from Castiel. “That’s… uh…”

“Strange, I know.” Castiel said, looking from Meg’s painting to a self-portrait that had taken first place by a student named Bela Talbot. “Our friendship now is… mostly non-existent, but she still checks in, usually when I find I need it most…”

“I guess I can’t judge you too much. She’s been alright with me and Sam. And by alright, I mean she hasn’t screwed with us too much...” Dean admitted, “Funny, I actually ran into her yesterday…”

“I thought that,” Castiel replied softly, “Seeing as she’s the only one I talked to about… everything.”

“Is she _really_ a bad chick or is she just playing the part?” Dean asked.

“It’s high school, Dean. What do you believe?”

Dean just chuckled and gestured to her painting, “I believe in unicorns.”

***

Over by the doors, Jessica was attempting to entice Sam into trying the punch, but wasn't proving successful. Nearby, Castiel's group was waiting, with Anna swirling her car keys around her fingers.

“Did you drive here, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, Dad actually let me, can you believe it?” Dean responded, withdrawing the Impala’s keys from his pocket, a part of him still in disbelief she was his for a few more hours, “Blew my friggin’ mind.”

“Maybe a reward for completing Crash Course.” Castiel pondered aloud, a slight smile ghosting his features.

“Reminds me, I still owe you one.” Dean told him, “Sam’s right, y’know. Would’ve flunked it without you.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Dean. In actuality, I only accompanied you the first four days. The rest… well...” He trailed off, and Dean stopped them both, letting the others walk ahead of them a ways.

“Don’t. Water under the bridge.” Dean reminded, to which Castiel just looked away and left the subject alone. He was obviously still sore over their rocky beginning, but if Dean had learned anything in his eighteen years of life, it was that things weren’t perfect, and this included friends. Castiel would learn eventually, too.

Sam had noticed Dean and Castiel lingering behind and waited, while Castiel’s group had gone ahead and filed around an old, beat-up sedan parked a few spaces from the Impala. He gave Dean a look (‘Everything okay’?) to which Dean just nodded quickly alongside Cas.

“Hey, who are you riding with, Castiel?” Anna called to them as they approached.

Dean stilled slightly.

“...I think I’ll go with Dean,” Castiel answered, to which Anna noticeably frowned.

“Oh, are you sure?” She asked, seemingly more out of concern than anything.

“I’m rather positive…” Castiel said, grinning deliberately as he looked towards the Impala.

Dean picked up on what he was aiming for right away. He closed in on the Impala and unlocked the doors for Sam and Jess who piled into the backseat. The shocked and mesmerized looks on the other’s faces as they all climbed in would stay in his memory for a long time.

“Uh, hey, any chance you possibly have room for one more?” Inias started, cut off by Anna who tossed him her car keys.

“You can drive, Inias!” She said, skipping over to the Impala.

“But this is _your_ car! Anna! Hey, wait!” He argued pointlessly.

“Have fun!” She shouted back, coming to Castiel’s side.

Castiel seemed bewildered and looked directly to Dean for his approval, and he nodded. 

“The more the merrier, right?”

***

Sam and Jessica had already taken up the backseat, and though a bit surprised with a stranger - Anna - suddenly joining them, scooted over humbly. Castiel looked to consider squeezing in next to them, but opted for shotgun instead. Thankfully.

Dean, once again, didn’t realize he was staring as Castiel buckled his seat belt until Sam asked about turning on the radio.

“Alright, alright,” Dean said, bringing the car to life and reaching for the tuner.

Instantly, unrecognizable static flooded the interior. It seemed like their father either didn’t listen to music or just stuck to the tapes. Dean adjusted the knobs, tuning into an advertisement, and then another advertisement.

“Come on,” Dean complained to the stereo, “Give us a winner!”

Finally, a song - but nothing Dean had ever wanted to hear.

_“You and me, we used to be together, every day together, always - ”_

“What’s this crap?” Dean spouted, flipping the station to the next.

“Aw, I like that one!” Anna protested. Dean finally ignored her.

More static, another song.

_“You are not alone, I am here with you - ”_

He switched it again.

“That was MJ, wasn’t it?” Jessica said, as if the simple fact of it being Michael Jackson made it any good.

The next station settled in.

_“And after all, you’re my wonderwall - ”_

“Nope!” Dean declared, switching the track as the entire backseat groaned in disapproval; Castiel merely tilted his head.

“Come on, Dean, change it back!” Sam said, half-serious.

Dean gave his brother major side-eye through the rear view, which Sam returned with a demanding stare that faintly reminded Dean of a young Simba attempting to roar in _The Lion King_.

“Fine, fine! Just this and then I’m switching back to tape!” Dean warned, as _Wonderwall_ by Oasis became part of the soundtrack to their night out with the Impala.

It wasn’t exactly how Dean had pictured it going, but whatever - it definitely beat whatever the Hell else was on the radio. He also had to concede to the fact that he was grateful with just being able to drive her without his Dad piping in every five seconds over how much gas he was using, how much he was riding the brakes, how he turned too wide… 

Dean shook his head, before noticing Castiel’s hand tapping to the song as he stared out the passenger window, street lights intermittently illuminating his face in waves of orange every couple of feet. The song cut back to the chorus - which Sam and Jessica decided to suddenly half-sing-half-shout along to, making Castiel jump and turn to them.

“And after all!” They carried on, “You’re my wonderwall!”

Anna joined in and reached up front to pat Castiel’s shoulder, encouraging him to sing with them. Dean glanced back from the road briefly to see Cas politely refusing, then to the rear view mirror just in time to see Sam and Jessica break into a fit of laughter in the backseat, unable to finish the next chorus. Anna kept going, but lost confidence and begged the others to keep it going. Dean turned back to the road, and just for a second, glanced at Cas one last time as the song winded to an end.

_“I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me…”_

Dean decided - very secretly - that he liked the damn song.

***

Inias and Uriel had already arrived at the Roadhouse before them, as they didn’t need to be as careful with Anna’s car as Dean had to be with the Impala at full capacity. Dean took note of the time, knowing they only had a few hours left of their night and their next stop would likely be back home. He grimaced. If it were up to him, he would’ve spent the whole time just driving all over town, stomach growling or not. But he needed to honor his brother and the musicians present - after all, it was their big night, not really his.

“So, jealous?” Anna was saying to Inias and Uriel, who nodded begrudgingly as they came to look at the Impala up-close.

“Is this really your car?” Inias asked Dean as Uriel leaned down to see the grill better.

“Yep.” Dean admitted proudly, “I mean… well, soon, anyway.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, but smiled, allowing Dean to relish the moment. He wasn’t really lying as the Impala really would be his one day, Sam just wasn’t sure about ‘soon’. There was practically no contest between how much John and Dean loved that car. They loved it just about as much as they loved him. As Sam continued to watch Castiel’s friends marvel over the car, Jessica tucked her hands into her jacket and he took it as a signal to start ushering everyone inside.

Dean turned to start following Sam, but noticed Castiel still lingering behind.

“Cas, what’s up?”

Castiel turned to him, obviously concerned. “I, um…”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to trouble you, it’s just I feel a little uncomfortable leaving my violin in the passenger’s seat…” He explained, “Could I place it in the trunk?”

“Of course,” Dean assured him, partially relieved it wasn’t something more serious, “Want to throw Anna’s back there, too?”

“It would be wise,” Castiel said, “Just in case…”

After Castiel had secured the violins in the trunk, with more than enough room to still spare, they headed after everyone else who were waiting to be seated at the doors. Castiel fidgeted with where to put his hands, still absent of his trenchcoat and it’s deep pockets. He finally settled on keeping them stiffly at his sides, and kept his head low.

“You okay?” Dean prodded.

“Yes, I just hope you don’t mind. My violin…” Castiel murmured, “It’s a _Stradivarius_.”

“ _Strada-what-us_?”

“Stradivarius. They’re… rare, to say the least, and… I feel silly for worrying about it...”

Dean nodded, “Don’t. You’re good.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean patted Castiel’s back reassuringly, just as he had before, and just as he had countless times with Sam - but this time he froze with an urge to linger, to keep his hand to Castiel’s back, which felt so different without the thickness of the coat - but not a second longer did Dean force himself to stop.

He had felt it again - an energy, something practically magnetic. It had sparked at his fingertips and threatened to ignite something within him, something big and beyond his understanding. He had felt it growing the other day, in the theater, when he had been the only audience member, and again, just now. It was unlike any feeling he was used to. It felt as inviting as it was foreboding. Like an innocent temptation which he couldn’t understand and could only acknowledge was just there - for whatever reason.

Castiel was oblivious to Dean’s internal conflict, or only seemed to be, eyes always focused on something distant either out of purpose or ploy. It was hard to discern what Castiel was thinking about in general, and Dean had to wonder if it was only him affected, or if Castiel had a similar influence on others around him. Maybe, Dean figured, the unplanned group dinner could reveal something more, though he really wasn’t sure of what he wanted that to be.


	5. Trickster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a night of burgers and beers, Dean makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is slow going but I promise the pace is about to pick up! Thanks to all who have read so far. 'v'

The interior of the Roadhouse was divided into a bar and diner section, and despite it being a Friday, they managed to find an open corner booth to pile into, with the Winchesters taking the outside, and Jessica, Anna, Inias, Uriel, and Castiel between them. It was a snug fit, with many elbows and thighs touching, but only Uriel and Castiel seemed to be uncomfortable. Dean noticed they made an extra effort to create more space between themselves, resulting in Castiel’s shoulder nudging his own. Castiel apologized for it, of course, and Dean disregarded it with a little smile, still trying desperately to put out the internal fires that had been ignited moments earlier.

Castiel’s affect on him went unnoticed, save for Sam and, interestingly enough, Anna, who kept looking up at him from over the menu. Dean was almost dead-certain that Anna liked him, but mixed with his growing state of confusion, the additional interest of a pretty girl was - for once - the last thing he wanted.

Sam suddenly kicked his shoe under the table, breaking him from his thoughts. (“You okay?”). 

Dean raised his eyebrows and readjusted in the booth. (“I don’t know”.)

Sam tilted his head towards Castiel. (“Is he okay?”)

Dean slightly nodded, then looked down at the menu. (“Yeah. But…”)

Sam kicked his foot again. (“But…?”)

Dean shrugged his shoulders back and looked from the menu towards the waitress walking over to them. (“I’ll tell you later.”)

As the waitress took their drink orders, Dean felt himself relaxing a little more and took in the ambiance of The Roadhouse: a little dusty, dark, and dingy, but filled with decade-old photographs and historic memorabilia. Every time he stopped in, he noticed something either new or something that he hadn’t caught previously. One of his favorite items, for whatever reason, was a framed, vintage road map of Route 66, spanning all the way from Chicago to Santa Monica - the literal road trip of his dreams.

Castiel noticed him staring at it and almost went to say something, but Uriel pulled his attention back to ask him about sharing an appetizer on the menu. Dean mirrored them in looking over it, but he already knew he’d be getting the usual burger and fries before they had even left the school. And if he knew Sam as well as he knew he did, Sam would go with the chicken salad. When the waitress returned to pass them their drinks and readied her clipboard for their orders, Dean sidestepped the small flares of anxiety he was still feeling, and gently nudged Castiel with his knee.

“Watch this,” He whispered, looking towards Sam and Jessica.

“And what can I get you?” The waitress said to Sam, who cleared his throat.

_“Chicken salad.”_ He responded, to which Dean mouthed along.

Castiel and Dean smirked to themselves, but Sam had caught it, and glared smugly at Dean, waiting for the waitress to circle to him. Once she did, he similarly mouthed along to Dean’s order: _“Burger with fries - hold the lettuce.”_

“Impressive,” Castiel replied, helping to pass the menus back to the waitress, “I wish I had that close of a bond with my siblings.”

Dean looked to Cas, having almost forgotten the small instance in which Castiel spoke of having siblings in the theater the other day. Sam beat him to the punch in asking if they attended Lawrence.

“No, all of them are much older than I am,” Castiel explained to them, “One still lives with us, and the rest have since moved out-of-state for college...”

Dean took a sip of his soda, trying to find the patch in the checker table cloth Castiel was looking at. “How many ‘sibs are we talkin’ here, Cas? Two, three?”

“Seven, including myself,” Castiel revealed.

Dean instantly looked to Sam. “Still think you got it bad, Sammy?”

Sam scoffed. “You’re about as much trouble as six older brothers combined. If not, more. So yeah, I do.”

As Castiel smiled again, Anna looked his way. 

“I don’t know about that,” She said, “Gabriel is pretty bad…”

“Gabriel?” Dean repeated.

“The one who still lives with us,” Castiel answered, looking up thoughtfully, “And Anna is correct, he’s very troublesome… I think what you would call a _trickster_.”

“Is he still working over at Mystery Spot?” Anna asked, and Castiel nodded.

Just for a moment, Dean could almost feel a wave of jealousy over the fact Anna knew so much more about Castiel than he did and even knew his brother personally, despite that he’d really only known Castiel for a few weeks. But _why?_

“That tourist trap is still functioning? Surprising.” Uriel muttered coldly.

Anna shot Uriel a small glare then looked to Castiel again. “How has he been, Castiel?”

“Gabriel is fine, but my father - understandably - wants him to move out. There’s… _tension_ , needlessly speaking...”

Dean watched Castiel’s hands slip back underneath the table to interlock, something he noticed Cas seemed to do whenever he felt a little stressed. Dean swallowed. The thought to grab Castiel’s hand to comfort him came to mind, and as soon as it did, it was like cold water being poured over him. He shivered, and rose up far too quickly from the table. Everyone’s heads snapped his way and he promptly excused himself to the bathroom. He felt Sam get up a second later and follow him out, though not towards the bathroom, but outside for much-needed air.

As soon as they emerged out, Sam just about slammed his hand on Dean’s shoulder and demanded to know what was going on.

“Dean, you’ve been acting funny ever since we got here, what’s up?” His brother prodded, and Dean ran his hand over his head.

“Sam, I have no idea,” He answered, turning to his brother, lost for words, “Honestly. I just…”

“What? Sensory overload?”

“No - I mean. Kind of. But… it’s…” Dean trailed, “It’s different. I don’t know how to put it, but I feel… just _not me_.”

“Off your groove?”

“Yeah, _way_ off.”

“Dude, that’s fine. It’s been a long day. We’re hanging with new people. It happens. I bet you’re just hungry.”

Dean sighed deeply. “Yeah, can’t argue there…”

“C’mon, game face.” Sam reminded, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he led him back up the steps to the Roadhouse, where the others were still waiting for their food.

Castiel looked up, a little more concerned than normal. Dean silently reassured him with a smirk and sat back down, noticing that Anna had started sketching on a napkin. It was too early to tell what she was drawing, no less upside-down, but he had no doubt she’d show everyone after she had finished.

“So, does it normally take this long...?” Inias asked, rattling the ice in his cup with a straw.

“Can’t rush perfection.” Dean insisted, tapping a small rhythm on the table. 

Sam smiled, happy to see Dean back at ease.

“If you say so,” Inias replied, yawning.

“Are you tired already?” Anna said, pausing from drawing to jab him with her elbow, “There’s a party over at Nathaniel’s after this. Remember?”

“Ohh…” Inias groaned and buried his face into his hands. “... _com-plete-ly_ forgot.”

Anna’s mouth parted and she looked to Uriel, who just chuckled. “I can’t go, I told you already.”

Dean watched Anna’s eyes fall to Castiel, pleading with him silently.

“Um…” Castiel offered her a much more sympathetic smile, “...It’s not really… my field...”

“If you guys don’t want to, you don’t have to,” She said softly, “...I just don’t want to go by myself, you know?”

Dean sensed Castiel’s guilty struggle.

“What about Hester?” He asked her, “Wasn’t she to be there?”

“ _'Prim and Proper?'_ Doubt it,” Anna’s head dropped and she looked to the table in defeat, going back to sketching, “Nevermind, guys. It’s not a big deal…”

Dean, Sam, and Castiel all caught the moment before her head snapped up and she looked straight to Dean. 

“Shot in the dark?” She asked, eyes lighting up for a second.

For whatever reason, Dean really didn’t want to extinguish her flame. “I don’t know, I have to have the car back by ten, so - ”

“Well, do _you_ have to be back by ten or just the car?” She asked, a bit slyly.

Sam shot Dean a look. (“Don’t even.”)

“I mean, he didn’t really, uh… clarify, so…” Dean just shrugged. 

He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t say no as easily as everyone else had. Maybe he didn’t have the heart to tell a pretty girl ‘no’. Or maybe he just liked parties too much. Something like that.

“Well, can you?” She asked again, “Just an hour, tops. Not even that if it’s lame...”

He was about to answer when Castiel suddenly spoke out, “I can go with you, Anna.”

When everyone looked at him, his brows furrowed. 

“What?” He asked defensively.

“Cas, it’s just…” Anna started.

“You and parties…” Inias said.

“...aren’t necessarily _compatible_.” Uriel finished.

Castiel had every reason to shrink into the smallest possible space the booth would allow him, but instead remained surprisingly firm, obviously fueled by something other than his own interests. Dean couldn’t help but feel he was involved.

“How would I know if I’ve never been to one?” Castiel questioned before looking directly to Anna, “You said you didn’t want to go alone, and I am offering to go with you. I don’t understand the problem.”

Anna, though still surprised, chose a careful response, “There’s no problem, Cas. I completely appreciate it, I just... I want to make sure _you’re_ okay.”

“I’ll be fine.” Castiel insisted, in a tone too similar to the one he had used when telling Dean to never speak to him again. That in itself signaled to Dean that he was anything but ‘fine’.

***

The food may have taken a while, but true to Dean’s word, was worth the wait. By the time they had finished and split up the tab, Dean realized that they only had twenty minutes to ten and hurried to pay for their meals, having just enough to cover himself, his brother, Jessica, and Castiel.

“I have money.” Cas insisted, but Dean waved him off.

“Don’t. I got you,” Dean said, “Think of it as a thank you from my Dad for Crash Course…”

Castiel allowed it, using what money he had for a tip instead.

As Anna, Uriel, and Inias all struggled to put their bill together, Dean could almost feel the shadow of his father timing them down to the second. With Jessica to drop off first, they were cutting it more-than-close. He had every reason to rush, but all he wanted to do was stall.

“Dean, you ready?” Sam asked urgently, tapping his watch.

“Yeah, just…” He looked back over to Castiel who was waiting for Uriel and Inias to hoist themselves out of the booth, then back to Sam. “Having second-thoughts.”

“About what?” Sam questioned harshly, and Dean easily visualized about a hundred red flags appearing over Sam’s head.

“Going to the party,” Dean answered, causing Sam and Jessica to look to each other.

“Um, are you _sure_ that’s a good idea?” Sam asked, “Considering… y’know, _earlier_?”

Dean shrugged and Sam rolled his eyes and began to head for the exit. He followed after them towards the cars, brimming with nervous energy. He didn’t like Castiel pressuring himself to go to the party, but if he was going to, he at least deserved somebody looking out for him. Dean was sure Anna was a capable guardian, but he didn’t…

He didn’t want to worry.

He didn’t want to worry _about Cas_.

While Sam helped Jessica back into the Impala, Castiel’s group crowded around Anna’s sedan.

“Hey,” Dean said to Anna, “Change of plans. I’m comin’ with you guys, just need to drop off Jess and my brother. So, just follow us, ‘kay?”

Anna grinned and began ushering everybody into her car, while Castiel shot Dean a strange glance before climbing into the backseat of the sedan with Inias and Uriel.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sam said to Dean once the Impala doors were shut, “You just met her, I mean…”

“You think _that’s_ what this is about?” Dean shot to Sam, who shrugged innocently, “Come on, Sammy.”

***

Sam made a hurried goodbye with Jessica, and by the time they rolled up to the gravel driveway of their stand-alone farmhouse and shut off the engine, the clock had struck only one minute before ten. Just in time. Dean and Sam both breathed a deep sigh of relief and fist-bumped before getting out, with Anna’s car idling a few feet away. Dean led Sam up to the door and unlocked it, before handing Sam the keys.

“This is a stupid move,” Sam reiterated, gesturing back to Anna’s car with his head.

“Nothing I haven’t done a hundred times before. It’s just a party. Relax.”

Sam brushed his hair out of his face and huffed, turning the keys in his hand. “I know. I know, but between you feeling off earlier and, well, it’s just... Dad doesn’t let us have a lot of nights like this…” He suddenly fell quiet and Dean leaned back in realization.

“And you don’t want me to screw it up last minute?”

“Well, _yeah_...” Sam agreed.

Dean knew Sam was right, and not just because he was Sam. Their father definitely hadn’t approved of any after parties, but if anyone was actually going to get in trouble over it, it would be him. Sam was in the clear, and that’s all that mattered.

“The car is fine. You’re fine. I’ll _be_ fine. Just go to bed.” Dean assured, “I won’t be long.”

Sam obviously wasn’t pleased, but knew continuing the argument was pointless. “Whatever, Dean. This is on you.”

Dean replied by pushing the front door open for him, then headed to where the others were waiting, including Castiel, who had taken to the backseat with Inias and Uriel, granting Dean shotgun.

“Alright, who’s first?” Anna asked excitedly, wheeling around to see Inias had fallen asleep, leaving Uriel to be wedged uncomfortably between him and Castiel, who was silently staring out of the window. Anna tapped the steering wheel for a beat and attempted to readjust the rear view, which Dean noticed was being held on with duct tape.

“Castiel, are you sure you want to come? I have Dean now, so you don’t need to feel like you have to...”

“High school is nearly over,” Castiel finally said, “I suppose I’d like to be able to say that I went to at least _one_ party…”

“Hey, that’s the spirit,” Dean encouraged, reaching over to pat Castiel’s knee.

Uriel chuckled, but seemingly from a different kind of amusement. “Hmm. Not to spoil you, Cas, but you’ll hate it.”

“Maybe,” Castiel murmured, returning to look out the window, “Or maybe not. But at least I can confirm that for myself… ”

Uriel just shook his head, still laughing, “I’m telling you…”

“Uriel, stop. We’ll take good care of you Cas, don’t even worry,” Anna assured confidently, _“We won’t even be there that long…”_

***

Two hours later, Anna’s words echoed in both Dean and Castiel’s heads as they sat at a bench in the backyard of a house that neither of them recognized as crappy music buzzed from inside along with the intermittent shouts and chatter from the party-goers. Anna, unable to refrain, gave in to a few too many drinks, leaving them all, more-or-less, stranded.

“So. Tell me again why you wanted to come along?” Dean said to Castiel, who sighed heavily.

“I could ask you the same,” He answered after a moment, “I was curious… and I think I’ve ascertained that alcohol is the only point to any of this.”

“Nailed it there,” Dean said, looking over at a cooler resting by the back door, “Sort of feel like a beer couldn’t hurt at this point.”

“It's a bad idea. We have Anna to look after,” Castiel warned as Dean got up from the bench.

“It’s one beer, Cas.” Dean argued, digging into the cooler, “Not four shots of whiskey.”

“I…” Castiel bit his lip, then caved. “Have you… drank before?”

Dean stood back up, two cans in his hand, and paused. “You haven’t? Not even a sip when your Dad wasn’t lookin’?”

Castiel shook his head, and Dean just chuckled and handed him one of the cans. Castiel took it and examined the label while Dean cracked his can open with a loud pop, and drank back the foam that immediately began to bubble out - all too practiced.

“You’ve had... more than a few sips, I take it?” Castiel mused, beer still unopened in his hands, and Dean honestly felt a little guilty at the sight of him with it.

Castiel opened the can and merely watched the foam gush out and drip onto the patio before raising the can to his lips.

“Cas,” Dean paused him, “Look, you don’t have to - I won’t judge.”

“I know that, Dean.” Castiel replied before taking a small swig. He then quickly withdrew the can, and squinted at the label, then looked to Dean suspiciously.

“No good?” Dean asked him.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel determined, “It tastes like… how a pinecone _looks_.”

Dean burst out laughing. “Well, guess you’re not wrong. Cheers, buddy.”

They both raised their cans, then Dean sat back down next to him, taking in the smallness of the backyard. A lone lemon tree was propped up in the corner, and overgrown grass surrounded a broken concrete path from the back door to the side-fence. A few bushes, which were most likely giant weeds, hugged the surrounding walls, something Dean wasn’t used to seeing, having grown spoiled by the almost endless-looking dirt field that surrounded his place.

“Well. Here we are again,” Dean said, “Another bench.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, “Though this one is considerably more comfortable than the ones at school.”

“Cement blocks,” Dean sneered, relaxing back.

Castiel smiled towards him, “Right.”

Dean downed the rest of his beer while Castiel continued to take calculated sips. From inside, a slightly familiar guitar strumming began from the radio. Dean recognized it right away as the _Wonderwall_ song.

“Ugh, again? This song following us or somethin’?” Dean joked, setting his empty can down underneath the bench.

Castiel, all-too-serious, asked, “Do you not like it?”

“Eh, not really my thing…” Dean replied. It was a half-truth. “I prefer whatever you played at the show tonight. I mean, it was just…”

Castiel, who had been staring at the moon for the majority of their time outside, turned to look at him. Dean lost his train of thought. Where had he been going with that?

“Just what, Dean?” Castiel asked, stuck in unintentional suspense.

“I don’t know,” Dean said after a moment, the bitterness of the beer forming a shift in honesty, “I guess I really don’t have a word for it. I feel like ‘awesome’ isn’t good enough.”

“‘Awesome’ is good enough for me.” Castiel said, and Dean met his gaze.

A pulse of energy flickered back up and Dean felt it immediately beneath his eyes, causing his cheeks to feel warm. He needed to break the stare for it to stop, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt his stomach tighten and he began to panic.

This wasn’t like Lisa. It wasn’t anything close. It was something much different than that.

Castiel seemed to be having a similar struggle: stuck in a gaze, either unable or unwilling to tear away - at least for a moment, until he turned towards a vacant spot near their feet.

“Dean, I…” He breathed, “I’m sorry for you getting stuck here tonight.”

Dean felt the feeling fade behind both relief and disappointment, and receded back in the bench, contemplating grabbing another beer. He definitely needed it. “Not your fault, man.”

“Yes, but Anna is my friend, so I feel responsible.” Castiel explained, almost seeming to force himself to not look back to Dean again.

“Nah, this ain’t on you,” Dean affirmed, “I should’ve just told her I couldn’t go, but I had to be Mr. Cool. Sammy was right. Usually always is.”

“It was nice meeting your brother,” Cas reflected after a small pause, “Jessica seems kind as well, are they…?”

“A _thing_?” Dean scoffed, “If Sammy would pull his head out of his ass, then maybe!”

“Maybe it’s more complicated than that.”

“How? I don’t see what’s so complicated about ‘Do you wanna go out?’,” Dean griped, getting back up to grab the second beer, because _screw it_ , “I mean, he’s been doting on her all year. Did you see that rose tonight? And he has a picture of her right by his bed, too. It’s like they are, but they aren’t! I don’t get it.”

“You’ve, uh, dated people, right?” Castiel asked suddenly.

“You serious, Cas?” Dean asked, popping open the next can.

Castiel almost rolled his eyes for a second, strikingly similar to Sam as he corrected himself. “I mean, in school. You’ve had girlfriends. Correct?”

“Yeah, a couple along the way. Maybe only one serious one. Your point?”

“Well, was there ever any… drama over it?” Castiel asked him, making him take pause.

Dean could still remember the first few weeks after he and Lisa had became official. Nothing had ever so much affected him as it did her, in the form of a few dozen anonymous hate notes left in her locker and a particular incident in which another girl had ‘accidentally’ spilled her entire lunch tray over her head (on sloppy joe day of all days) - all out of pure, stupid jealousy. Even though they had overcome the initial waves, the waters had never exactly been calm at school. Dean had shoved so many memories of Lisa away that he had practically forgotten it at all...

“Yeah, y’know, come to think of it, it kinda makes more sense now…” Dean squeezed the bridge of his nose and looked back up to the moon, which was fading behind a thickening cloud. “So Cas… I know you’re…” He paused, rephrasing, “Have you had, um… y’know, boyfriends?”

Castiel turned the can in his hands, and shook his head. “No.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not that I haven’t had the opportunity for a relationship before…” Castiel explained, hands coming up to form air quotes, “But, um... ‘apparently’ I’m... too ‘particular’.” 

Dean snorted. “You? Particular? Never would’ve guessed.”

Castiel - finally, finally laughed, just for a breath, and Dean smiled.

“Dean, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you come to this last minute?”

Dean avoided his stare. He couldn’t tell Castiel that it was because he was worried. Castiel had seemed offended enough with everyone at dinner for thinking him incapable of going to a party, and Dean didn’t want to be lumped in with everyone else - not like that.

“Guess I just wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet,” He lied, finishing the second can with ease.

Castiel watched him place it next to the first, then looked to his own.

“Don’t worry,” Dean told him, “Not a race.”

Castiel looked back to him as the sliding glass door creaked open and Anna finally emerged out.

“There you are,” She said, a glass of clear liquid and ice in her hand.

“Vodka or water?” Dean asked, to which she cupped it underneath his face.

“Water, I promise.” She proved, “Working it out.”

Dean couldn’t smell any alcohol and took her word on sobering back up. She looked to Castiel and noticed the beer in his hands, as well as the cans lined up underneath at his feet.

“Castiel! Really?”

“It’s one beer. Not four shots of whiskey.” He told her, monotone in his delivery, and Dean beamed with pride.

“Well, I can see _someone’s_ a bad influence,” Anna remarked, adding quickly, “I’m kidding, of course. It’s about time you break a rule. Good job, Dean.”

Dean winked and looked to Cas who finally finished the can off and added it with the others. A group of people had wandered outside, breaking the once still and quiet backyard setting with drunken banter.

“Do they have pizza? What is that?” Anna asked aloud, to which Castiel squinted.

“I can’t tell. I’ll go investigate.” He said, excusing himself from the bench.

Dean watched him go inside, part of him wanting to follow before noticing Anna had taken his spot on the bench.

“He’s really sweet, isn’t he?” She said suddenly, making Dean look to her. Her eyes were a little glazed and her cheeks were almost as rosy as her hair. Still drunk.

“Yeah, guess you could call him that,” Dean agreed, chuckling, “How long’ve you known him again?”

“Castiel? Wow, let’s see… I met him in our sophomore year, in Orchestra. So, three years now?” She recalled, closing her eyes while clutching her water cup, suddenly smiling, “I remember I was really jealous of him at first. I used to be First Chair, and then he came along, Mr. Private Lessons…”

“Yeah, I bet...”

“But he was so good, Dean. Like, our orchestra used to be really bad. Then he came along and it was like a missing piece. He just fit in and helped us, way more than our teacher did. He even composed music for us. Like tonight, that solo piece, that’s something _he wrote_.”

Dean felt his mouth part. “Seriously?”

“I’m telling you, he’s something else.” Anna sighed, “Amazing how somebody that talented winds up in a public school in Kansas, he should really be at Julliard or something…”

“Yeah, definitely...” Dean looked down at his hands, remembering Castiel’s performance and he felt the hair raise on the back on his neck.

“So Dean,” Anna asked suddenly, “What do you think of him? Really?”

“What do I think of Cas?” Dean repeated, “What d’you mean?”

“I don’t know, like… do you like him?”

“What, like _that_? No!” Dean declared quickly and far too defensively, but not before Anna grabbed his arm and started giggling, which confused him even more. “What?”

“No! No, not like that. As a friend, Dean.” Anna explained, leaning towards him.

“If I didn’t like him, he wouldn’t be my friend.” Dean said, “What - do you like him? As a friend?”

“I guess that question does sound a little ridiculous, hm?” She thought aloud, “I’m just trying to make sure of something...”

“Make sure of what?”

Anna sighed, a bit exasperated. “Promise you won’t tell Cas?”

Dean grimaced. These were the worst kinds of promises. “I guess I’m gonna have to so you can just cut to the chase…”

“Castiel is fragile, Dean.” Anna began softly, “ _Really_ fragile. And... I feel like I would be a bad friend if I wasn’t looking out for him a little. In the time I’ve known him, he’s rarely made new friends. I think if it wasn’t for Orchestra class, he probably wouldn’t even have us, you know?”

Dean took in her words silently, finally realizing why she had been so engaged with him throughout the night - it hadn’t been for _him_ , it had been for Castiel.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Dean,” Anna continued, “Up until tonight, I didn’t really know you, I only knew _of_ you. And, surprise, you’re just as cool as everybody says you are, maybe even more. I hope you can understand why I was… cautious...”

“I have a little brother. I get the lookin’ out thing,” Dean surmised, crossing his arms. “But where are you goin’ with all this?”

“A lot of us are moving after graduation,” Anna explained, “Uriel is going up to Chicago, Inias’s family wants to go back to… Dallas or something, and I’m moving to Los Angeles with Hester for school, and, well, from what Castiel’s told me, both of you don’t seem to have any plans yet.”

Dean faintly remembered the threat of having to join the military, but kept quiet, allowing her to continue.

“Do you think… for as long as you’re both still in Lawrence, that you can... keep looking out for him, for me?” She finally requested, and Dean could no longer tell if her eyes were glazed from drinking or from the threat of tears. Something in her voice made him think it was the latter.

“Well, yeah. Of course,” Dean answered shortly, “But… Anna, look, I gotta ask, does Cas know about this? All of you leavin’?”

“Oh, yes, he’s known for a while,” Anna murmured, eyes scanning up towards the sky, “He says he’ll be fine, but it’s not like he’d stop me from going to college. He’s honest, maybe too honest, but let me tell you: he’ll lie to you the second he feels like it would protect you.”

“Yeah, sounds like him…” Dean smirked, just as the topic itself finally emerged back into the backyard with a plate in hand.

Castiel offered his findings to Anna, whose face dropped upon the sight of three pathetically-small, shriveling carrot sticks and a dab of ranch.

“Where’s the pizza, Cas?!”

Castiel sighed, stammering, “By the time I went inside, there was only a single slice left, but it had pineapple topping. Seeing as I recall you heavily disliking pineapple on pizza, I began to search for an alternative, but could only find these. I had hoped they would suffice enough...”

“ _Uriel_ hates pineapple, not me!” Anna corrected with a smile, to which Castiel grew even more exasperated.

“My apologies, Anna,” He stuttered, “Would you like me to see if it’s still there…?”

Anna shook her head and took the plate of carrots from him. “No, this is fine. I should probably slow down the calorie-intake tonight anyway. Thank you, Cas.”

“You’re welcome,” He answered firmly, finally glancing to Dean who looked up at him expectantly.

“What? Nothin’ for me?” Dean asked him jokingly, to which Castiel fell utterly disconcerted and all Anna could do was laugh.

***

Another hour was marked by the moon finally disappearing behind the roof of the house, and in the time since, Anna had slumped over asleep in the bench beside Dean, who couldn’t keep from yawning every minute.

“I suppose we need to finally consider how we’re to be getting home tonight…” Castiel said, pausing, “If… at all.”

“We could always walk,” Dean suggested, half-serious, “But she looks like she’s out cold.”

Castiel nodded and glanced towards the house, “If we can use a phone, I may be able to call my brother for a ride.”

“It’s past midnight, Cas. You think he’s awake?”

“Given it’s his specialty to stay up late, I can practically guarantee it. What I _can’t_ guarantee is he’ll be _willing_ to do it...”

***

Fortunately, Castiel’s brother _did_ agree to pick them up, but not after forcing Castiel to agree to a bunch of household chores, most of which Cas cited he often did himself anyways. After confirming the ride, Castiel helped Dean navigate Anna through the heaps of other drunken teenagers crashed in the living room and out into the front yard, where they waited for Gabriel.

“You’re going to have to return here later tomorrow for your car,” Castiel instructed to Anna, to which she just groaned and rolled back over in the grass, too tired to care.

Dean rubbed his eyes, tempted to follow suit before he saw headlights down the street.

“That should be him,” Castiel confirmed, “Let’s raise her back up.”

“Kind of a funny night, huh, Cas?” Dean said suddenly, helping to hoist a very sleep-deprived Anna back to her feet.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, as Gabriel’s truck slowed towards the curb.

“You met my brother tonight, now I get to meet yours,” Dean pointed out, sharing a grin with Cas as the passenger door swung open.

Inside was who Dean could only assume was Gabriel, but he looked nothing like Dean expected, as in, very unlike Castiel. He had brown hair, narrow hazel eyes, and a wry smile.

“Hey kiddos, or should I say - _delinquents_ ,” He greeted in a tone that was so completely between sarcasm and cheerfulness that Dean had a hard time gauging what it really was, “Into the paddy wagon you go! Make it snappy.”

After situating Anna, Dean climbed into the back next to her and Castiel took the front, where Dean could really begin to compare the difference of features between them. But, not a second from pulling away did Dean realize it wasn’t only their features that were different, but their personalities as well.

“You’ve betrayed me, Castiel,” Gabriel was saying as Castiel rested his forehead against the passenger window, “Going to your first house party _without me_? That was supposed to be my badge of honor...”

“It was... _impromptu_ ,” Castiel said through a deep sigh, and Dean wondered again what his motivation for going had really been.

“Did you drink?”

Castiel paused. “I... had a beer.”

“‘A’ is in ‘one, single beer’?! That hardly counts.” Gabriel teased, before his eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror to meet Dean’s, “So, who do we have in the back? Anna and Anna’s boyfriend?”

_“He’s (I’m) not her boyfriend,”_ Both Dean and Castiel answered so quickly in response that Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“Well, hello _Anna’s-not-boyfriend_ , I’m Gabriel, one and only,” Gabriel said to Dean before turning his focus back to the road.

“He’s Dean.” Castiel corrected.

“Dean? Oh, _that_ Dean?” Gabriel said, making Dean tilt his head, curious as to what Castiel had told his family about him. “I suppose that explains how you winded up at a party…”

Castiel visibly sunk in his chair and Dean shifted in his seat. Anna began snoring softly.

“Where to, Dean?” Gabriel asked as they approached an intersection.

“Um, just, make a left here and keep goin’ for a while,” Dean explained, “I’m, uh, kinda out in the boonies...”

“ _Of course_ you are…” Gabriel sighed dramatically.

***

As neighborhood tracks became more sparse, Dean did his best to wearily combat the annoyance of some awful disco music playing faintly from the stereo while Castiel stared quietly out of the window. Between the gap between the headrest and the side window, Dean could see him through the rear-view passenger window; his eyes were focused up on the sky, taking in the sight of more stars appearing as the main city grew more distant.

Gabriel, having also taken notice, sighed, “Homesick, Castiel?”

“Faintly…” Castiel murmured, eyes never wavering from the stars.

“Yeah…” Gabriel agreed, which cued them into a silence that, once more, made Dean realize just how little he knew of a person he’d grown fond enough to be worried for.

“You two, uh, not from Lawrence originally?” Dean pressed curiously.

“ _A-hnt,_ ” Gabriel buzzed loudly, “You ever hear of a place called Pontiac, Illinois?”

Dean struggled to recall, “It’s... familiar, I know I’ve seen it somewhere…”

“Don’t lie,” Gabriel quirked, “It’s a speck on the map, right next to _Nowheresville_ , just outside of the Windy City.”

“Chicago?” said Dean, “Hold on, doesn’t Route 66 run through there?”

“It’s about the only thing that does,” Gabriel replied, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice town, there’s just a whole lot of nothing there.”

“ _There_? I thought there was nothing _here_.”

“Lawrence is like Los Angeles compared to Pontiac,” Gabriel said, causing Castiel to turn to him.

“That’s an exaggeration,” Castiel argued, “Lawrence is _hardly_ like Los Angeles.”

“Well, you’re just biased because of that crush you have...” Gabriel suddenly grinned, and Dean felt something stumble within him, eyes turning from Gabriel to Castiel.

“It’s not a crush - ”

“So, all of those pictures in your room are just for decoration?”

“Yes?” Castiel answered simply, squinting at Gabriel in confusion.

“You’re the epitome of ‘not fun’.” Gabriel countered, almost too-serious.

Dean, who had felt frozen from the exchanges for a good moment, finally broke in, trying his best to sound teasing, “I didn’t know you had a crush, Cas...”

“Um, I suppose you could call it that…” Castiel looked from his brother to Dean, clearly distraught, “...I wasn’t going to mention it.”

“Oh, well…” Dean felt himself stammering again. “That’s, ah… good.”

Castiel gave Dean a look of confusion before the car began to slow and Dean simply smiled over his own embarrassment. He could physically _feel_ the new information about Castiel sticking into his head like a barb, and he knew it was going to poke at him some time later. But he couldn’t place _why_ it mattered if Castiel had a crush or not. Dean rubbed his eyes again and looked out the window. Maybe, he thought, it was because, if only for a few instances, he had felt as though the crush had been… well, _on him_. Not somebody in Los Angeles. Why else would Castiel have jumped into going to the party, only after Dean had been asked to go?

_‘He’ll lie to you the second he feels like it would protect you.’_

Dean sighed a little too heavily, prompting the Novak brothers to both glance back at him in their mirrors.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel finally asked.

“Just… tired.” Dean answered, voice hoarse.

Maybe they were _both_ just worried liars…

Or maybe the only person who really had crush on someone in this car… was _him_.

But Castiel was…

He couldn’t, he knew he _wasn’t…_

Sam, his father… what would they think?

Dean felt his chest lock up as the thoughts struck him like daggers dipped in fear, and he no longer had the energy to fight it. The realization grew fast, and before he could even attempt to slow it, the car stopped.

“This the place, Dean?” Gabriel asked of the lone farm house, and Dean nodded; a drive that had been taking forever before was suddenly over when all Dean wanted was the car to keep going - past the house, past the state line, past everything he ever knew.

Upon climbing out of the car, Gabriel seemed suddenly impatient, so Dean was brief with his goodbyes, citing he’d see them again on Monday and swallowing down anything else he wanted to say - which was just about everything.

Fortunately, Sam had left the front door unlocked for him, and he quietly made his way up the stairs past his father, who was still on the couch, asleep with his journal and pen in his hands. A younger Dean would have maybe tried to steal it and finally satisfy a curiosity of what their father wrote about all the time, but between knowing better and being too tired, and furthermore, too confused to be concerned with the journal, Dean let the temptation go. 

After collapsing back onto his bed and looked up to his ceiling, his exhausted thoughts still vividly on his night with Castiel.

“Los Angeles, huh?” He said quietly to himself, feeling his false grin recede before sleep washed over him like a wave.

***

The rest of the weekend was ordinarily boring for Dean, but he did entertain Sam by joining him and Jessica for a movie, after Sam had finally acknowledged Dean’s suspicions of purposely canceling the plans last time. The movie itself hadn’t been the greatest, but it was better than occupying Saturday with another day spent in the house and also helped to keep his mind off things. Sam seemed to have been most impressed with Dean’s lack of girlfriend-related jokes, if any at all.

“Thought for sure you’d ask me if we kissed goodbye back there,” Sam said as they were walking back home from her house.

“Why's that?” Dean countered sincerely, knowing Sam had no idea that Castiel was responsible for his new perspective, “You’re just friends.”

The way Sam’s head jerked back in confusion - though a pleasant confusion at that - gave Dean all the satisfaction he needed, but still, once the sun receded and Sam had gone to bed, and Dean was back in the confinement of his room, all of his feelings began to twist back up and his mind circled back to Castiel.

It had become clear that his feelings from Friday had not been the product of a few beers and lack of sleep, as much as he had wanted them to be. But as clear as they were, all he could do was deny them.

“You’re just friends...” He repeated his own words back to himself until he was able to muster the strength to pick up a book to lose himself in for the rest of the weekend.


	6. Scarecrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean helps Castiel conquer his fears while he continues to struggle with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took waaaay longer than I wanted.. D: Thanks for sticking with it!

When Castiel suddenly came to him in a panic on Monday morning before first period, Dean wasn’t sure what to think. Automatically, his thoughts went for the worst: weekend rumors had spread, Cas had _actually_ been threatened by someone this time - even his mystery LA crush as a culprit flashed by - but before they could truly become tangible concerns, Cas assured him otherwise.

“Dean, it’s my violin,” He said breathlessly, “After searching everywhere, I’m positive I left it in your car. Anna’s too.”

“Crap, that’s right...” Dean recalled, memories racing to tucking the violin cases in the trunk back at the Roadhouse. For a moment, he wondered if his father had found them and hadn’t said anything, but as that was too unlikely, he was sure they were probably still being tossed around in the trunk. He turned back to Castiel, secretly hoping his Dad drove as gently as he instructed. “D’you... want me to bring ‘em tomorrow or somethin’?”

Castiel bit his lip and his eyes shot down. “Um, actually, Dean... I was wondering if I could retrieve it after school today...”

“Oh? You mean... y’wanna come over?” Dean asked, his surprise stemming from a few weeks prior when Castiel seemed a little more-than-uncomfortable with the idea. Then again, that had been _before_...

Castiel hesitantly nodded, as if he too were surprised. “If you don’t mind...”

“Hey, ‘course not,” Dean smirked, patting his back, “As long as you’re cool walking, anyway. I mean, you saw how far I live. Think you can handle the hike?”

Castiel gathered a small confidence and met his gaze, smiling.

“I’ll be fine.”

***

At their meet up spot that afternoon, Sam noticed Dean’s anticipation right away - either because it was obvious or because he knew Dean better than anyone else in the world. Maybe both. It came in the way Dean kept glancing back at the other students every time the doors opened and the way he rocked back and forth on his heels, holding only one of the straps of his backpack tight to his chest while his other hand tapped against his thigh. Waiting for someone, no doubt there. And out of anyone, it had to be Castiel.

Sam had yet to work out the depth of Dean’s friendship with Castiel. From the day Dean had met him, he seemed to have taken an interest towards him that he couldn’t figure out, let alone Sam could. But in a way, Sam couldn’t blame Dean. Beyond his kindness, and mad violin skills, Castiel had a different air about him, one that made him seem as though, in some way, he was always seeing something beyond what everyone else could. He supposed his brother was trying to see it, too.

Dean exhaled a little sigh and turned, giving him a mean look, and Sam realized he’d been staring for too long.

“Take a picture, Sammy.” Dean chided, forcing Sam to leer at him.

They both noticed Jessica heading their way a moment later with three, thick text books clutched to her chest; a sign that the school year was winding down and teachers were taking it seriously. Sam offered to hold them for her, to which she hesitantly obliged and began to shake the soreness from her arms.

“C’mon, they’re not _that_ heavy,” Dean teased her, reaching to swipe them from Sam, “See?”

As soon as Sam let go, Dean nearly dropped them.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. _You_ try carrying those all the way down from Chemistry,” Jessica retorted, and Sam smiled proudly as Dean struggled momentarily to hand them back to Sam’s level.

As soon as Dean regained his breath, and his dignity for that matter, Castiel appeared in a beige trench coat that just about hung down to his knees. The breeze hit him just right, causing the coat to billow out and back in, almost like a cape. It made him appear much bigger than the simple dress attire he'd worn for the concert.

“Oh, hey Cas. Cool coat,” Sam greeted, pausing, “Um, aren’t you a little warm though?”

Castiel just shook his head and Dean smiled from a memory in which he had asked the same thing. He briefly wondered how often Castiel was asked this on a daily basis; kudos for his commitment, he supposed.

As Castiel and Jessica acknowledged one another with shy smiles, Dean looked to Sam.

“So, turns out Dad’s been driving around with two violins in the trunk the past two days…” He revealed, “Cas is gonna come over to pick ‘em up.”

“Really? Well, great! This actually works better, because now you’ll have someone to walk home with. I’m going over to Jessica’s today,” Sam explained, tilting the books in his hands, “For studying.”

Dean opened his mouth to question the context of “studying” but refrained, much to the relief of... everyone. Castiel seemed particularly impressed.

“Will you be back for dinner, or what?” Dean asked, finally hooking the other strap of his backpack around his shoulders.

“Should be,” Sam confirmed, turning away with Jess, “If not, just save something up for me. Unless it's spaghettios. Later!”

***

Castiel remained reserved for much of their walk home until the concrete sidewalks turned into roadside gravel. Less people, and more stillness somehow, even as the breeze rustled the grass and weeds growing against the fence posts to their right, carrying along the faintest scent of rain.

“Another storm...” Cas murmured, head tilting up.

“T’is the season,” Dean responded with a sigh, “Spring is so overrated.”

“How so?”

“Let’s see, we got... freezing mornings, hot afternoons, freak storms. Friggin’... _tree-sex_ allergies, semester finals comin' up... want me to keep goin’?”

Castiel shook his head, grinning. “I believe you have me reconsidering why I like spring…”

Dean nudged his shoulder. “Hey, don’t cave in before giving your point of view. Maybe you can sway me?”

“I see...” Castiel’s eyes found the sky again and he waited for a truck to pass and the dust to clear before answering. “I suppose I like spring for... new life, mostly. I don’t think there’s anything in this world more fascinating than that.”

“ _Boring_ ,” Dean mock-yawned, “I need somethin’ better than that. C’mon. Inspire me.”

Castiel paused, pondering his answer carefully. Dean waited.

“Boring…” Castiel murmured after a few steps, before he stopped completely to look down towards the ground.

“Cas?” Dean asked, suddenly afraid he had offended him before he noticed Castiel was looking at something on the other side of the fence post.

A single blue flower was swaying just on the other side.

Dean looked up from the flower to Castiel, realizing he was looking at the exact same shade of blue.

“Not even a month ago, this flower was a seed that was buried beneath the snow all winter,” Castiel started, “No one planted it here. It merely went where the wind carried it. Maybe from across the road, or even a hundred miles away from here. And as soon as conditions were suitable, it grew...” He paused, meeting Dean’s gaze, “This may seem odd to you, but I’ve always felt that these flowers remind me that my own lack of growth or direction isn’t entirely my own fault, but of the circumstances surrounding me - most of which I can’t change. But, just as well, when the right conditions occur, I know I’ll not only grow, but flourish.”

Dean blinked and gave Castiel a once-over, as the words resonated within him. His mind flashed forward to finals, to failing, his father’s disappointment, and images of himself in uniform again. Though this time, there was the addition of promising Anna to look after Castiel, which he had stupidly accepted, knowing his inevitable fate. “And... if you can’t wait for the right conditions? Then what?”

“You grow anyway. Wherever the wind carries you.”

Dean swallowed the soreness that had gathered in his throat and nodded silently, his apprehension clearly noticeable to Cas.

“What?” Castiel asked, squinting, “You said to inspire you…”

Dean smiled, and grasped Castiel’s shoulder firmly.

“Don’t ever change.”

***

The house came into view after the next field, and Dean could see the Impala in the driveway. It seemed his father had been gaining more time off lately, which he wasn’t sure was good or bad. Either way, before the relief of retrieving Castiel’s violin could settle in, he immediately began to wonder about the cleanliness of the house or if they had anything decent to make for dinner. Then it finally occurred to him that he was about to introduce Castiel to his father. At least with Lisa, he had been fully prepared...

_‘C’mon, Cas isn’t Lisa,’_ Dean reminded himself as he fiddled with his house keys. _‘You’re friends, you’re not… it isn’t_ like that _…’_

As he pushed open the door, he heard the television buzzing. His Dad was resting in his chair this time, reading glasses and journal set on the end table beside him.

“Dean, Sam?” John asked over his shoulder.

“Uh, just me and a friend. Sam went to Jess’s.”

John turned to see him and Castiel, and he gave them both a long, hard look. Dean smiled as casually as he could and ushered Castiel forward for the introduction.

“This is Castiel.” He told his father, then to Castiel, “Cas, this is my Dad.”

“Hello, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel said politely, as John reached out to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” John said slowly, though with a bit of hesitation in his voice.

Dean’s mind screamed with reasons - he didn’t like him, he suspected something about him - but all were silenced as John suddenly grinned.

“Now _that’s_ a handshake,” He complimented Castiel, who thanked him, never wavering in confidence when he had absolutely every reason to be nervous. “You’re the one who helped Dean with his school work, right?”

“Only a little, sir,” Castiel answered, “Dean did most of the work himself.”

“No need to be humble around here,” John assured Castiel, unaware that Castiel was being perfectly honest. Luckily, Castiel didn’t challenge him on the matter.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, Dad, can I get the keys really quick? I need to get into the trunk - ”

“Is this about those violins I found in there this morning?” John asked him, “I figured you had something to do with that. Put ‘em on your bed.”

Castiel looked to Dean, concern spiking in his eyes; he definitely wanted to assure they weren’t damaged.

“Thanks,” Dean breathed, “Sorry about that, totally forgot, we got so caught up at dinner and - ”

“Anything’s better than Legos in the air vents - ”

“Hey, that was Sam!”

“Did I say it was you?” John retorted and Dean leaned back in acknowledgment as John turned back to the television, “Go on ahead, boys.”

Dean thanked his father quietly, then quickly led Castiel upstairs to his room, which he could’ve cared less about being a little messy at this point. With zero instruction, Castiel had passed The John Winchester Test. Relief was an understatement. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed more concerned with inspecting the state of his violin. In what looked to Dean as two identical cases, Castiel promptly selected his own. There wasn’t a single scratch, let alone any kind of a break or damage. It had remained perfectly secure and safe. While Castiel held it up and looked over it further, Dean decided to check on Anna’s. It seemed fine enough, though he was no expert.

“So Cas,” Dean said, “You said your violin was like, really rare, right? How rare are we talkin’?”

“One out of about five hundred ever made. It's close to three hundred years old.”

“Whoa. How’d you come across it?”

“One of my brothers won it at an auction somewhere… though, I admit, a bit unfairly with gambling money he’d ‘acquired’. We… don’t really talk to him anymore since he was convicted of grand larceny. He’s what you’d describe as a black sheep...”

“I couldn’t imagine anyone in your family being a black sheep,” Dean awed.

“Before Friday, you couldn’t imagine someone like Gabriel being my brother.”

Dean plucked the strings of Anna’s violin, nodding. “Yeah, you got me there. You and him are total opposites.”

As Castiel secured his violin back into the case, he noticed Dean reaching for the bow in Anna’s case.

“You’ll have to tighten that if you plan to use it,” Castiel told him, pointing at the screw on the end, “Twist that until it’s slightly taught. Don’t overdo it.”

“This real hair?” Dean asked as he twisted the screw and the bow hairs began to straighten.

Cas nodded. “Horse hair, usually.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised, and he awkwardly held the violin up onto his shoulder and brought the bow down onto the strings. Castiel began to cringe.

“Whoa, already?” Dean shot at him, “I haven’t even started playing yet!”

“Yes, but I already know it’s going to sound horrendous. It always does.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean argued playfully, pointing the bow at Castiel, “I might just surprise you yet, Cas!”

He brought the bow down, and unfortunately true to Castiel’s prediction, the most awful screech he’d ever heard in his life filled the room. He readjusted, but it only sounded worse. He placed his fingers blindly down and the screeching only continued. Finally, he stopped and glared at the violin as if it were broken.

“Okay, what the hell?!” He complained, looking to Castiel.

“First off…” Castiel explained, coming to his side, “You’re applying far too much pressure with the bow. You only want to press into the strings slightly, if at all. Allow gravity to do the work…”

Dean allowed his hand to go limp as Castiel guided the bow across the strings, and almost immediately, the screeching stopped, but it still sounded nothing close to good. It sounded... _stiff_ and awkward. The sounds didn’t resonate like they did when Castiel played, and it became even more clear to him just how good Castiel actually was.

“You’re going to want to stay between the fingerboard and the bridge, like so…” Castiel instructed further, hands guiding the bow down the strings a few inches. With the tiniest of instructions, Dean realized, the sound was actually improving.

“Okay, so how do I play ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on this thing?” Dean quirked, and Castiel just smiled.

“May I?” Castiel asked him, reaching towards his hands.

Dean nodded, but suddenly felt his breath catching again. There was the feeling again, and it only rose more as Castiel’s hands took in his own and adjusted the violin. They were soft, save for the tips of his fingers, calloused from playing the violin his whole life. He could feel Castiel’s chest barely brushing against his back as he breathed, and with the way his arms were guiding him, it was practically an embrace.

“Like this…” Castiel said in a whisper that made the hairs rise up on the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean was only able to play three of the six or seven notes that Castiel was attempting to teach him before the feeling was too much and he conceded defeat.

“I think I’ll leave the violin stuff to you… this is… _beyond_ me.”

Castiel chuckled and took Anna’s violin up onto his shoulder. “You said ‘Stairway to Heaven’?”

Dean, still swirling from Castiel’s touch, suddenly lit up. “Yeah, you know it?”

“I’ve heard it a few times...” Castiel admitted, which Dean almost criticized him for (“Only a few?!”) before he began to play.

At once, Dean stilled as Castiel began a private concert for him in his room - an impromptu Led Zeppelin cover at that. He sat mesmerized as familiar notes began to fill the space in a way in which he’d never heard before, for nearly five minutes, with nothing Dean could recognize as a single mistake. There wasn’t even hesitation. It was as if Castiel had played it millions of times before. It was as if he became something entirely inhuman as he played, like the violin was merely an extension of himself that he had full control over. He closed it as accurately as it had began, letting the notes fade to silence until looking to Dean for input.

“Okay, you’re either a friggin’ savant or full of crap,” Dean said after he collected himself, “Heard it ‘a few times’ my ass!”

“Maybe ‘heard it a few times recently’ is more accurate…” Castiel smirked as he set Anna’s violin back into it’s case.

***

Later that evening, after Gabriel had picked Castiel up, Dean found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling again, strangely melancholy despite how well the afternoon with Cas had went and how positively his father had perceived him, having later complimented the Stairway to Heaven cover he'd overheard. Dean was _definitely_ relieved for that, but something about it felt... false.

John didn’t know about Castiel’s orientation. And he _definitely_ didn’t know the extent of Dean’s sudden confusion over his own. If he knew for a second that Castiel was affecting him like this, well… Dean wasn’t sure what he’d do. But it probably wouldn’t be good.

Sam was always an option, and he definitely knew most of the story and probably had his own suspicions anyway, but Dean wasn’t sure how to talk to him about it. He wasn’t sure what he could say without sounding ridiculous. Sam looked up to him too much, and needed him to be focused and present. Not a wreck.

Dean sighed, eyes straining to keep from tearing up.

“Mom…?” He asked aloud, to silence. He waited a moment, then spoke again, “Mom, I, uh… I know it’s been awhile, since we’ve talked and… well, I just… wish you were here right now, ‘cause… Well, I always wish you were here - you know that. But I wish I could… _really_ talk to you, because I think you’d… understand. And that’s... what I need, is someone… to understand. Or help me understand, just… what this _is_ , what I’m doin’ here, what I’m thinking, because I really don’t know anymore…”

He felt his voice crack, and couldn't say anything more.

***

The rest of the school week had proved uneventful. Dean struggled with the usual things: staying awake in class, actually turning in his homework, secretly wondering what Castiel’s crush looked like, walking home with Sam and dodging any questions about what was on his mind, but all was disrupted by the following Wednesday when Dean found a folded up sheet of paper in his locker. He opened it slowly, only finding a single, three-letter word written in stark, red marker.

_“FAG”_

He felt his stomach begin to churn, but ignored it as he tucked the paper into his pocket. He knew better than to react here. His thoughts only went to Castiel and his concern as to whether or not he’d received anything similar. There was no doubt he did, and by the time he was able to meet Castiel after school, the answer was written all over his face.

“Dean, can we talk?” Castiel asked, clearly anxious, and Dean nodded and began leading them away from the school grounds.

“I… didn’t want to tell you this, at all. I felt like running again. But I remembered what you told me, and…” Castiel was stammering and was barely a shell of the confidence he’d displayed in the presence of John Winchester as he withdrew a crumpled note from his coat pocket, “I found this in my locker today.”

Dean took it, already noticing it was written on the same style of handwriting and notebook paper as his own note, but had a minor addition.

_“Stay away from Dean Winchester faggot”_

Dean sighed deeply, hesitating over telling Castiel about his own note. He was already distraught enough...

“Any idea who this is?” Dean asked, voice distant.

“Why does it matter?” Castiel asked lowly, “A threat is a threat, and it’s only a matter of time before they target you, too…”

Dean’s jaw clenched before he pulled out the note he’d received. Keeping it from Castiel would only screw things up more. They had to deal with this together. 

“They already have.”

Castiel went from upset to mortified, and he turned away immediately, “I should go -”

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean ordered, catching the sleeve of his coat, “Don’t. Running won’t solve this. You know that.”

Castiel looked up at the sky for a moment before he finally looked back at Dean over his shoulder. “It’s one thing for them to come after me. But I’ve endured it for years, Dean. I’m used to it. It’s something different for them to come after you. This is what I was afraid of from the start. And now that it’s transpired, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Well, _I can_.” Dean assured, but Castiel only looked back away.

“That may be so, but - ”

“Cas, it’s gonna take more than a damn locker note to scare me.” Dean explained, ripping the notes in half and tossing them to the wind.

Castiel watched the paper shreds flutter down the road, and turned back to Dean again.

“Can we go somewhere?” He asked suddenly, his eyes an odd mix of fear, yet faintly, hopefulness.

“Somewhere?” Dean repeated.

“Somewhere away from here.” Castiel finished, glancing back at the yellow school buses turning around the block.

Dean nodded. “I know a place.”

***

Dean hadn’t seen the fields for a few weeks, but he could always count on them to be overgrown, vacant, and only a mile past his house. A steady breeze presented a low hum against the endless sea of wheat, and birds chirped distantly. As he hoisted himself over the dilapidated fence posts, Castiel stalled.

“Dean, this says ‘Private Property’.” He warned, to which Dean glanced at the rusted sign half-hanging from the barbed wire.

“Does it?” Dean questioned sarcastically as he stepped into the grass, “Hm.”

He trudged a few feet inwards until he heard the fence rattle behind him from Castiel climbing over; he smiled to himself. Once Castiel joined his side again, he led them on towards the center, passing a broken scarecrow with a lopsided grin and faded overalls. They didn’t say anything for a while, until Dean found a spot of low grass to situate himself in. The usual spot.

“I’ve been comin' here for years,” Dean told Castiel, who sat down beside him, “It’s the only place where I can think straight.”

Castiel took in the warmth of the grass beneath them and watched the tops of the taller wheat stalks sway rhythmically around them. Above, white veins of altocumulus clouds drifted along in a peculiar unison.

“I can see why,” Castiel acknowledged after a beat, before hugging his knees to his chest, “It’s… peaceful.”

“One of my best kept secrets,” Dean smirked, leaning back onto his elbows, “Only Sam knows about it. And now you.”

“I feel special, then,” Castiel murmured from over his shoulder.

“Well, you kinda are, so…” Dean trailed as Castiel’s shoulders relaxed and he looked up.

“You’re too nice to me, Dean.” He said suddenly.

Dean stared at him for a moment before laying the rest of the way down.

“Maybe a little,” Dean agreed, “You feelin’ any better?”

Castiel made a small laugh and shrugged, “Slightly.”

“Good.” Dean answered, hooking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

He let the sound of the wind and birds settle over him and it wasn’t long until he heard the grass rustle as Castiel laid down next to him. He waited a little until opening an eye to peek at him, seeing that Castiel had also closed his eyes.

No one could bother them here.

They stayed that way for awhile, long enough for the clouds to change shape and the afternoon shadows to stretch over their features. They said little else, and Dean could’ve sworn Castiel had fallen asleep by the time he decided to sit back up. As he looked down at Cas, he felt an enormous surge well up within him that made him want nothing more than to protect him. This quiet, overly-honest, violinist from his World History class had somehow found a spot within him that he had only ever reserved for his family.

He realized with great concern that not even Lisa had etched the surface of what it meant to love someone in such a way. Dean could’ve wondered for years why it had to be _Castiel_ , why it had to be _now_ \- but it didn’t matter in moments like this. Like the blue flower growing near the fence post near his house, something had started to grow - perhaps something that had been there for years, buried, cold, and dormant until the right circumstances came into place.

Castiel was in his life for some reason other than his grades sucking - this much was clear. But what did Castiel think of him? Was it even remotely the same?

Castiel, as if sensing Dean’s inner-debate, rose and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“What time is it?” He asked.

“Time to head home,” Dean grunted as he stretched, “Before our folks freak out.”

Castiel just nodded as he got back to his feet and they left the comfort of the field and the lonely scarecrow behind them.

“Thanks for showing me that place, Dean,” Cas told him briefly before they parted ways back near the school, “Tomorrow, then?”

“Always.”

***

The rest of the week was calmer, but both Dean and Castiel still felt sick every time they opened their lockers, even after finding nothing ugly inside. The week afterwards was the same, and as March came to an end, April was beginning to look up. They grew more confident talking to each other in the hallways between classes. They visited the field again on a Friday and stayed until the first few stars came out, talking of life, their deceased mothers, their stressed fathers, and the perspectives of older siblings and younger siblings. High school was left at high school, and the locker notes from the weeks prior were nearly forgotten.

Over the first weekend of April, they saw a movie with Sam and Jessica, and once it was over, Dean couldn’t acknowledge any good scenes as he’d spent most of the time wondering if Castiel thought the guy on screen was attractive or not, or more so, if he, himself, was even attractive to Castiel. He had never even considered that he wasn’t, too spoiled from the attention of countless girls at Lawrence.

“Cas?” Dean asked, as Jessica and Sam ordered ice cream from the parlor outside the movie theater, “Got a weird question for ya, and I hope y’don’t take it the wrong way…”

Castiel seemed only mildly concerned, but was too curious to refrain from nodding.

Dean cleared his throat. “How do you, ah, personally tell if someone’s like, hot? Attractive?”

Castiel stared at him for a second and Dean bit the inside of his cheek. 

“Do you mean to say how do I tell if _men_ are attractive?” Castiel corrected.

“Uh, well… I didn’t want to put it that way, but, sure, I guess - I guess that’s what I mean.” Dean agreed heavily, holding the back of his neck with his hand out of embarrassment.

Castiel just seemed amused. “Probably in the same way that you tell if a woman is attractive, I’d imagine.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, what do you look for?”

“Aesthetically speaking?”

Dean shrugged, and Castiel hesitated.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’ve never been asked that before… seriously, anyway.” Castiel admitted, smiling sadly, “I… suppose I’ll let you know the next time I see someone like that.”

Dean felt a faint pang within him, but he grinned on the surface. Before he could think, words were leaving his mouth: “So you can’t rate me?”

Castiel’s eyes widened slightly as Dean begged to take the words back, all of them, having said far too much.

“Y’don’t have to answer that, Cas, I was jokin’,” Dean insisted automatically, to which Castiel bit his lip.

“You have a lot of the qualities I like,” Castiel murmured suddenly, “I could go in more detail, but... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean searched his eyes, finding nothing but the same sincerity Castiel presented when they had first met, and ignored his breath catching.

“Hey, you’re fine. I asked for it, right?” Dean replied quickly, “Sorry I made it weird just now...”

“I don’t think it’s weird, Dean,” Castiel said as Jessica and Sam returned with ice cream, “I understand what you mean. Sometimes I wonder how women perceive me. It’s really no different.”

“Yeah? I g-guess so, huh?” Dean mumbled quickly, as Sam looked at him funny.

(“What’s -”)

(“NOTHING.”)

Jessica gave Castiel a quick once-over. “Women’s perspective? Well, hopefully you don’t mind Sam, but Cas is like... a solid eight-out-of-ten. The whole dark hair, blue eyes, trench coat thing. It’s mysterious... and kinda hot. You make a person really curious about what you have going on underneath all that - ”

Sam audibly cleared his throat and Jessica elbowed him, ensuring it was ‘only perspective’. Castiel seemed intrigued and almost a little flustered, and Dean secretly wondered why the score was an eight instead of a ten.

Later that night, Dean talked to Mary again.

“I know I’m not like this. But he’s different. He’s something… totally different. Maybe because he always listens, like no matter what… and doesn’t judge… he… he lost his mom, too…”

Sam overheard Dean praying, and almost knocked, but refrained.

Dean would come to him when he was ready.

***

It happened on stormy Friday morning, mid-April.

Rain had kept everyone inside and within closer proximity. With lingering tornado advisories having been issued all week and State Assessment testing in full swing, students and teachers alike were all on edge. 

It was really only a matter of time until a fight broke out.

Dean was walking down the hallway when he first heard the shouting and saw the mass of his fellow peers formed in a half-circle around the lockers. As if on instinct, he pushed through towards the front; all he saw was a small part of Castiel’s coat on the ground. It was all he _needed_ to see before he rushed in and grabbed the attacker off of Cas by the neck of his shirt.

Dean forgot what he looked like. He forgot how hard he swung. But it was enough to send the kid barreling back against the lockers and to the floor beside Castiel, who was sitting in a daze with a bloody lip.

As Dean stood in shock of the situation, and himself, he felt a small hand tug him back. He looked down to see it was Meg Masters - now, of all people.

“ _Go_ ,” She hissed, shoving him back into the crowd who watched on in a craze of hysteria, demanding more as teachers and staff desperately shouted for order from beyond the outer circle.

Dean only watched on, bewildered as Meg placed herself over the student who had attacked Castiel; just as administrators finally pushed through the line, she balled up her fist, mocking having thrown a punch.

They grabbed her immediately and began ushering everyone else away, threatening “infinite detentions”. As the crowd rapidly dispersed, Dean stumbled down to Castiel’s side and helped him up as the administrators began demanding of them what had happened. Castiel, still too confused to respond, merely glanced at the student on the floor next to him who was clutching his nose, blood streaming out from underneath his fingers. Instead of looking to either Castiel or Dean, however, the attacker looked at Meg.

“Her, she did it! I think she broke my nose,” He exclaimed, and Meg smirked sweetly at him.

Dean looked between them, suddenly realizing what Meg’s game was. _She was taking the fall for him._

“We need to get these two to the health office,” One of the administrators said, catching Dean in his sight. He gestured to Castiel. “You, Winchester. Help him up.”

Dean nodded and hooked an arm up and around Castiel, who, though still dazed, recognized Meg. She smiled to the two of them, much more sincerely, before she was escorted away.

***

“Injuries sustained?”

“A busted lip and some bruising on one student, and a broken nose on the other.”

“How did this happen?”

“According to the incident reports and their own accounts, Richard Roman encountered Castiel Novak in the hallway after third period and began antagonizing him verbally. Novak responded _physically_ by shoving him away, to which Roman then punched him. Somewhere during this, Meg Masters jumped in and attacked Roman, possibly in defense of Novak, though we can’t quite say. Other student witnesses say Dean Winchester was involved and punched Roman first, but Roman says he only remembers Masters hitting him. Masters admits to punching him, as well. When we talked to Winchester, he said he didn’t know anything, but the nurse noticed his knuckles were red. From this and the student witnesses, we can only assume he _was_ involved somehow.”

“So, what are we thinking for this? Parent conference? Suspensions?”

“At this point, Masters has already been suspended three times. She’s looking at expulsion. Roman has been suspended once for disruption, and other than a few detentions, Novak and Winchester have clean records. It’s your call.”

“To expel a student with only a month left until graduation seems counterproductive, but I can’t have any more students fighting. We need to set an example and make sure the remainder of the year goes smoothly. Look into transferring Masters to Free State for finals. I want a three-day suspension for Roman, and a one-day suspension for Novak and Winchester effective next Monday.”

“I’ll contact the parents.”

***

As Dean grudgingly waited outside the principal’s office next to Castiel and across from Richard and Meg, he tried to ignore the sound of the secretary’s gum snapping in her mouth. Castiel kept his eyes on his shoes, a bag of ice melting in his lap. Dean wanted to encourage him to keep it on his mouth, but didn’t want to speak to him in front of Richard, who was continuously glaring at all of them as he clutched his own bag of ice on his face.

Dean didn’t know who he was, or where he came from, but if he ever encountered him outside of school, he’d have way worse than a broken nose next time.

As Dean fearlessly glared back at Richard, Meg sat calmly with her legs and arms crossed, looking more bored if anything. Every so often, she’d look at Castiel a certain way in which Dean recognized was how he often looked at Sam, as a concerned (albeit annoyed) older sibling.

One by one, they were all called back into the office to speak to their parents along with the administrators. Despite how terrified Dean was of how his father was about to react to the news of his suspension, he knew deep down that nearly knocking Richard out was _worth it_. _Castiel was worth it._

Dean was last to be called in. True to his nature, John wasn’t happy upon learning of his suspension. And even though the school administration may have been fooled by Dean not claiming to know anything, John Winchester knew better.

“You really don’t care, do you?” He exclaimed, voice booming through the speaker enough to rattle it.

Dean stood as still as a statue, distancing the phone from his ear slightly. “No, sir, I care. I care a lot.”

“Clearly, you want to enlist, Dean,” John insisted, “You _want_ to fight. That’s what this tells me. So you better get used to not being here. Don’t bother coming home tonight. I want you to think about what you have, and how easy you can lose it all.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean answered quietly.

A click and sudden dial tone signaled the end of the conversation, and Dean slowly hung the phone up and left the office without saying a word. When he emerged back out, Meg and Richard were gone, and only Castiel remained. He looked up at Dean sadly with his bag of ice still in his lap, which was now mostly water.

“Can I come over tonight, Cas?” Dean asked, voice nearly cracking.

Castiel told him he never had to ask.


	7. Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feeling rages as strong as the storm outside; like the clouds, Dean knows he can’t contain it forever.

Dean and Castiel waited to speak to each other until they had been escorted off school property for the day, unable to return until Tuesday after their suspensions were lifted. The administrators offered them little sympathy on the way out, even suggesting that they got off easy, that they were lucky they weren’t banned from walking at graduation - a word Dean only began to hate more and more; though still, not nearly as much as the guy who had attacked Cas.

Dean wanted to ask more about him - if Cas knew him, why it had happened, but not now. Not _here_.

Instead of making the familiar left towards his house, they migrated right, towards Castiel’s, but not before Dean stopped to tuck a note under a rock by the meet-up tree for his brother. It wasn’t too detailed, but for Sam, it didn’t have to be.

_“Sam -  
Don’t wait for me today”_

“I assume your father told you not to come home?” Cas asked cautiously from behind him, and Dean sighed, making sure the note was secure.

“Yeah. Kicked me out. Just for tonight, but who knows, if he’s any bit as pissed tomorrow, it could be all weekend. Bastard heard ‘one day suspension’ and just lost his mind,” Dean explained, before forcing a laugh, “And here all I heard was, ‘Three day weekend!’”

Castiel smiled slightly, a few specks of dried blood still on his lips. “Are you… angry with him?”

“Of course I am!” Dean then sighed, “...I don’t think my mom would’ve been this way. He didn’t ask me if I was alright, or anything. All he knows was I got in a fight, didn’t ask why. Doesn’t matter why, though - fight’s a fight to him. Swear he just cares about graduation, it’s all he goes on about…”

“I’m positive that he cares about you beyond graduation, Dean.” Castiel countered, to which Dean groaned.

From the day they met, Castiel always seemed quick to come to John’s defense, but unlike all the other times, Dean wasn’t accepting it today. Not after that phone call. Not after everything else that had happened.

“Enough to kick me out of the house for the night, with a storm comin’?” Dean argued, eyes glancing up towards the thickening, dark gray clouds billowing overhead, threatening to saturate the city at any second, “Totally screams ‘I care’.”

Despite his tone, Castiel continued to question Dean’s doubts over his father. “More than likely, he knew you would find company with a friend and - ”

“Yeah, but what if I _didn’t_?” Dean suddenly barked, cutting Castiel off, “What if somethin’ _bad_ happened to me? It’s not just about today, Cas. It’s everything else, too. He’s been threatenin’ me since Crash Course that he’ll make me enlist if I don’t graduate, and I started thinkin’ about what would happen if it _did_ come to that? What if I died in battle or somethin’? Would he even feel bad?!”

Castiel, though surprised by Dean’s sudden confession, still did not cave in to his frustrated doubts.

“Firstly...” Castiel started coldly, voice deepening as a gust of wind hit them from around the street, “I imagine _anything_ bad happening to you would devastate him. Secondly, you’re eighteen now, Dean. No one can force you to join the military, only the government can, and only during a draft. The worst he could do is kick you out of the house, just as he did today.”

Dean stilled for a second, gritting his teeth. “You don’t _know_ him, Cas. You might’ve met him on a good day, but he can be damn _demon_ sometimes -”

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree on this subject,” Castiel had now cut him off, eyes forward and hands white-knuckle gripped around his backpack straps.

Dean felt something peculiar about Castiel’s aggravation; it almost had a jealous tone to it. Then it hit him.

“So,” He asked slowly, “What’d your Dad say?”

Castiel huffed and shook his head. After a beat, he finally replied.

“He asked me to pick up milk on the way home.”

***

Despite occasional breakthroughs consisting of roadside flowers and birds, Dean felt he still knew very little of most things concerning Castiel’s life. If he had a notebook, he could jot down the surface facts easily: quirky, older brother? Check. Distant, stay-at-home father who made a living off of editorials? Check. Miscellaneous siblings whose lives ranged from top-notch universities to federal prisons for apparent grand larceny? Check…? But these things didn't exactly make Cas... _Cas_. There was something more going on in the way he viewed the world. Something different than anything Dean had ever seen, or felt from another person. And increasingly lately, he had started wondering about what Castiel thought of him. In a way, it scared him; he had a couple pages on Cas at best, but Castiel probably had an entire book on him by now. He supposed if Castiel had any negative perceptions, he would have left already, but even so, never had Dean opened up this much to another person like this, let alone so quickly, without any calculated effort or prying from Cas. Maybe because Castiel was so different from the rest. Maybe because his concern was always so clearly genuine. Maybe because he didn't always give Dean the answers he wanted to hear. Or maybe it was as simple as the fact that Castiel was just someone who really listened to him. Regardless of the reason, Dean felt some comfort in knowing he was about learn a lot more about him today, even if it was only a few more pages worth.

***

Castiel lived a significantly shorter walk from the school than Dean, in a two-story suburban home on a spacious corner spot with overgrown grass. The exterior paint was slightly faded and chipping in a few spots near the roof, and it faintly reminded Dean of his house - his first house. Even the smell of old wood as they entered the small foyer stirred up similar memories.

From the front door, a hallway stretched out in front of them where Dean could see the back door and kitchen, and to their left was the staircase and the living room. The television, Dean noticed, was bigger than theirs, but had a small sheen of dust across the screen - barely used. On their right, a dining room that had been converted into a study, where a middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair and a peppery beard sat, typing away on an electric typewriter faster than Dean had ever seen anybody type. He wore a loose robe and didn’t look to be a day past forty. Several empty coffee mugs were stacked across the desk in no concise organization and the floor consisted almost entirely of balled up papers.

The man, who Dean could only guess was Castiel’s father, barely glanced up at them and only offered a small, “Hey.”

“Hello, father.” Castiel muttered quietly as Dean braced to introduce himself, eager to do just as good a job as Castiel had with his father.

“Go ahead and put the milk in the fridge for me, would you?” Was the airy reply, and already Dean started to see the sharp distance Castiel had mentioned.

“Of course,” Cas said, briefly pausing as he glanced to Dean, “I… have a friend staying over tonight -”

“Oh, that’s cool. Just don’t be too loud. I’ve been on a streak all morning and I _really_ need to keep this going...” His father explained, fingers never ceasing to type, even as he spoke.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. Obviously, there wasn’t a mutual interest in an introduction. A part of him wanted to make for a comment, but righteous impulses had already caused him enough trouble with crappy father figures for the day, so he bit it back and instead followed Castiel into the kitchen.

“His name is Chuck,” Castiel explained enthusiastically over his shoulder, “I apologize for his… _distractedness_.”

“Don’t bother, Cas. Not on you,” Dean whispered, glancing back down the hall towards the office, “So, is he… always like that?”

“Generally,” Cas answered, sharing Dean’s discontent, “But when he’s on these ‘writer streaks’ of his, it’s worse.”

Dean half-smiled. “I’d hate to see him in a block.”

Castiel eventually grinned, and almost laughed. “Yes, you certainly would.”

There was a small pause while Dean took in the kitchen, which was kept up about as well as his own: mostly clean, yet lacking the particular thoroughness of a mother’s touch. He had a feeling that Castiel did most of the housekeeping, as he couldn’t imagine Gabriel or Chuck washing their own plates. Stepping past Castiel, he peered out of the window at the backyard, which was mostly plush, green grass guarded under an impressive oak tree. Its branches were swaying vigorously, almost like ocean waves, as the winds continued to pick up outside. With the sun completely taken over by clouds that had finally broken, the ambiance of Castiel’s house was soon filled with the sound of steady rainfall clattering onto the roof and windows.

“Just in time,” Dean said of the golf-ball sized rain spots gathering on the back patio, “Hopefully Dad’ll pick Sam up today...”

“Hopefully?” Castiel questioned, his concern obvious. It made Dean smile a little.

“After my screw up today, I’m sure Sam’s set for rides home the rest of his life,” Dean assured, turning back to Castiel, whose lip was still swollen and, to his sudden realization, had gone completely unnoticed by his father typing away in the other room. It struck something fierce inside him, but also caused him to take pause.

Maybe Castiel was right. John wasn’t a perfect father. Some days, he was anything but - even so, despite it all, somewhere in there, he cared. Chuck didn’t seem to be the slightest bit concerned, let alone enough to be even remotely worried or even angry with Cas. Dean couldn’t continue to doubt his own father, even as he was technically homeless for the night. It was much better than Castiel’s discipline, or lack thereof...

“Y'have ice?” Dean asked, as he pried open the freezer, where a half-full ice tray rested next to two empty Popsicle boxes.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Castiel muttered, slightly annoyed.

As Castiel discarded the boxes, Dean snatched a hand towel from the counter and began placing ice into it. He twisted it shut and held it out for Cas, who finally obliged and held it to his face. He cringed at the initial sting, then sat down at the table and began watching the rain hitting the back window. It had become so heavy that it was as if someone were spraying the glass with a garden hose outside.

Dean joined him, but found himself looking at Castiel’s lips more than the window. He hesitated before finally asking him about the fight. 

“Did you even know that guy back there?”

“An acquaintance, you could say…” Castiel answered quietly.

“What happened, anyway? Why’d he go after you?”

Castiel never looked away from the window and kept the ice rag steady on his face. Dean knew he wasn’t going to reveal much, but for what did follow, Dean understood enough and the words would stay with him for a long time afterwards.

“For the same reason they all do…”

Dean’s hands tightened into fists underneath the table. The rain continued to clatter. The typewriter in the other room continued to click, wind, and ding. Castiel continued to sit, like a piece of glass artwork, on the edge of a top shelf, in the midst of an earthquake, so close to falling over and shattering into a million dust-sized pieces, yet stubbornly resilient and unmoving. Sometimes Dean felt like all he could do was look up at him, praying he wouldn’t fall...

_“Castiel is fragile, Dean.”_

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved.” Castiel said finally, but Dean didn’t waiver.

_“Do you think… for as long as you’re both still in Lawrence, that you can... keep looking out for him, for me?”_

...but readying himself in case he ever did.

“Yeah. You’re right. But not like you wouldn’t of done the same for me.” Dean rebutted, gaining a curious glance from Cas.

“You’re wrong, Dean,” Castiel said dead-pan, before breaking into a smile, “I would have kept swinging.”

“Oh, _thanks, Cas_ ,” Dean mock-scoffed, “Y’know, I prob’ly would’ve if Meg hadn’t of jumped in like she did…”

“Always the opportunist...” Castiel mused, adjusting the ice rag, “We owe her.”

“Never thought I’d owe Meg Masters jack,” Dean said, sitting back, “Think we’ll see her again?”

Cas shook his head. “Maybe not soon, but I imagine eventually.”

“Eh, I’m good with eventually.”

A few minutes passed. Castiel’s lip, though red from the ice compress, was finally starting to improve. Castiel caught Dean staring.

“How is it?” Cas asked within a breath.

Dean swallowed. He wanted to reach out to him and caress the cold, sore skin, and tell him he looked just fine.

“Swelling’s already goin’ down…” Dean said, instead grabbing the dripping rag from the table, “Rest should heal up by the time we go back to school...”

Castiel forced a sad smile, almost as if let down somehow. Had he been expecting something more from him? Dean didn’t have time to ponder as thunder suddenly boomed overhead, enough the rattle the interior.

“Man, it’s gettin’ bad out there…” Dean muttered, thoughts shifting to his brother as he placed the rag into the sink.

Castiel seemed aware of his concern. “Do you want to use the phone?”

“No,” Dean answered quickly, turning, “I mean, I don’t know. Maybe later.”

Castiel went quiet again, the windows flashing faintly down the hallway from lightning. Close thunder followed. The typing in the study continued and Dean suddenly began to feel irritated again.

“Hey, so is it safe to go upstairs or…?” He prodded.

Castiel tilted his head, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

Dean then felt he’d given too much of himself away in his own doubts of room cleanliness and just shrugged awkwardly. Castiel didn’t question him any further and led him towards the stairs, finally away from the irritating clicking of Chuck’s typewriter.

***

Castiel’s room was smaller than his, with a large bed taking up most of the space near the window, which faced the front of the house with a good view of the street corner. The room wasn’t as pristine as Dean had always imagined it being; considering Castiel’s nature, he half-expected all solid-white furniture and blank walls, but instead it was a typical, normal old room that, if anything, reminded him of Sam’s, except Castiel kept a small array of miniature house plants in his window sill. Most of Castiel’s other belongings seemed to be of the sentimental sort, mostly random, and placed carefully and with purpose, but especially the posters on his walls, which, Dean noticed right away, were all of, or based on, Los Angeles. There were no people at all, he realized, just architecture, road maps, and vintage Hollywood memorabilia and photographs of the city and the beach.

Dean stepped closer to look at an old, black and white photograph of Sunset Boulevard. His heart began to sink again as an attachment Castiel had to someone in Los Angeles was truly confirmed.

“So, take it this is...” He began, voice quiet.

“Oh… right, my ‘crush’ as Gabriel insists,” Castiel sighed exasperatedly, “He’s utterly ridiculous, Dean. I’ve told him many times that it is impossible to have a tangible love interest in a metropolis - ”

Before Cas could continue, all Dean could do was break out into laughter - never in his life had utter disappointment faded so fast. 

“Dean, I...” Castiel asked defensively, “Is it really that funny? I would have thought you’d appreciate the road maps at least...”

“Cas, no, it’s not _that_ ,” Dean gasped, trying to collect himself, “It’s just... I thought you had an actual crush who lived in Los Angeles. Y’know, like _a person_!”

“Oh…? No, I just like it for some reason. Gabriel teases me for collecting so many pictures. I don’t have any acquaintance with anyone who lives there. And… this may seem stupid, but I’ve never even been there before,” Castiel answered softly, before gaining a small smirk, “...I suppose that is a little funny, then?”

Dean had to sit on the floor near Castiel’s violin case, eyes watering and ribs sore.

“Oh man, I haven’t laughed this hard in… I don’t know when,” Dean exhaled, clutching his stomach, “All this time I thought there was this other... mystery person…”

“You sound… _relieved_ ,” Castiel noticed, seemingly more curious than serious.

“Yeah, guess I… am...” Dean suddenly mumbled. As the high from the laughter faded, he realized that he had definitely said too much this time and Castiel had him pinned.

“Why?”

Dean couldn’t do anything but sit on the floor of Castiel’s bedroom, hesitating before the truth finally began to bleed out. “I don’t know. With you bein’ so particular and all, I knew whoever it was had to be someone pretty special to you, y’know. Top shelf. I guess I sorta felt a little…”

“Jealous?”

“ _No!_ No, just… _uncertain_?” Dean half-corrected, “I-I’m just competitive like that. I wanna be someone important to you, too. In my own way, I guess.”

“Dean,” Cas said gently, “You’re plenty special to me, regardless of anything…”

Dean found himself scratching his head as he rose back up from the floor, embarrassed and unable to look at anything but his shoes. “Man, now I just feel stupid. _Selfish_...”

“No, not at all,” Castiel told him, “I understand what you mean. After all, I feel similarly about you, so…”

Dean finally looked up to Castiel as he trailed off, and their eyes met. They both froze. Dean could tell Castiel felt what he could only describe as a small shock; an impulse. Suddenly, the silence between them had gone on too long. The air in the room felt stuffy and warm. The rain was white noise. The moment was shifting, fast, yet entirely in slow motion. All Dean really saw were Castiel’s eyes, searching his own for some kind of a signal - one to either stop, or go.

“Cas…?” Dean asked through a short inhale, heart racing.

He could only watch a familiar uncertainty cross Cas’s features that forced him to turn away. Dean felt his chest lock up as Castiel left him in that moment. It had been _right there_ , and it had been _Castiel_ to turn away from it, not _him_.

_‘No, no, no, come back…’_ Dean thought, begging whatever force that had just surrounded them to pull him back - it wasn’t too late...

Castiel was talking about something else now, but Dean couldn’t hear him. They had been so close, so dangerously close, and for the first time, Dean had been so sure of what he wanted, so sure that Castiel wanted the same, that he could only stand in a daze. Castiel seemed concerned, and was asking him something, but all Dean could hear was a faint ringing instead of words.

_“Dean, what’s wrong…?”_

He shook his head, and stumbled towards Castiel’s bed.

“Dean!”

Castiel’s hands caught his arms and he steadied him to sit on the foot of the bed. Dean’s focus returned slowly, until he could hear the rain again.

“Dean, what happened?”

Dean clutched his head and looked down, “No idea, just got dizzy all of the sudden...”

“Hold on, I’ll get some water…”

As Castiel left him in the room, he slowly re-calibrated, his hands flattening over Castiel’s blankets. They were really soft. Probably a billion thread count or some crap. He glanced at the pillow, then to the nightstand. Beside an empty glass cup were two orange prescription bottles. Castiel took medication? Dean squinted, unable to make out the labels, and before he could inspect further, Castiel returned with a full glass of water.

Dean didn’t take more than a few seconds to down the entire glass, still reeling from whatever had happened. Castiel took the glass back and placed next to the other on the nightstand. He stilled, then opened the drawer, and though Dean couldn’t see around him, he heard the sound of Cas putting the pill bottles away. He wasn’t sure if it worried him or not, but like so many things, it was Castiel’s business, not his.

“Better?” Castiel asked him, and he nodded.

“Yeah, way better. That was…” Dean shook his head for effect and placed his hands over his knees, “Weird.”

“Well, it _has_ been a rather stressful day for us,” Castiel acknowledged, sighing, “I’m sorry, I should have offered you something sooner. I usually don’t eat until dinner, let alone have company to entertain very often… I’m afraid I’m not very good at this.”

“Hey, not askin’ you to be. I’m just glad I have somewhere to crash. Don’t worry about entertaining me. I’m fine just hanging out with you, you know that.”

Castiel seemed to relax again. “Right. Well, by all means, if you need something to drink or eat, just do as you would at home.”

“If I did that, you’d run out of food,” Dean joked with a wink, and a sense of normalcy returned to them, though only a sense. 

Something was still lacking, as if a puzzle with a single missing piece. Dean couldn’t help but feel it was whatever moment had failed between them just now.

***

As the storm continued into the night, Castiel had collected a dozen pillows from throughout the house and propped them up against the back wall on his bed, forming a makeshift couch for them. Dean found a certain intimacy in their shoes being kicked off near the door and the occasional creak of the mattress from the other’s weight shifting, so much different from when they had laid next to one another in the fields, yet so much the same.

During a game show rerun they had settled on, a tornado advisory scrolled across the top of the screen, listing several nearby counties, including their own, which came of no surprise. The blaring alert noise was just another song of spring, though to Dean, there was always something really unsettling about the garbled, robotic-sounding voice that read off the text. He’d hated it since he was a kid and had often fought with Sam for the television remote in order to mute it, a battle that still continued to this day. Luckily Castiel wasn’t Sam, and also seemed unnerved by the noise, muting it without Dean having to ask.

Gabriel returned home from work a few hours early, citing the weather. As he stood in the hallway, ranting about some particularly stupid tourists at the Mystery Spot, Gabriel stopped short once he noticed Castiel’s lip and immediately began pestering him with questions.

“Does Dad know?” Gabriel prodded, to which Castiel shrugged.

“He was... made aware, but that’s different than him _knowing_.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Ain’t that the truth - and let me guess, he’s been writing down there all day?”

“Since we got here.” Dean finished, reveling in Gabriel’s frustration. Castiel tensed up.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and abruptly turned in the doorway.

“Gabriel,” Castiel said suddenly, leaning forward, “Don’t.”

“Nope, that’s it. I’m done. He’s had this coming for a while,” Gabriel countered as he headed down the stairs, “...not like writing… you don’t just get to pick your hours as a parent… he knew that when he signed the papers...”

“'Signed the papers?'” Dean shot Castiel a confused look, to which Castiel grimaced.

“I, um… I never thought it necessary to mention that we were adopted,” Cas revealed quietly, hands clasping in his lap, “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but at one point, Chuck was doing very well financially. He had some type of spiritual epiphany while traveling, and decided to adopt us into his family. It was considerably nice the first year or so, but he quickly began to lose funds after that… and energy. It got worse after we moved here from Pontiac.”

“And now he’s that coffee cup in a bathrobe glued to the desk downstairs?” Dean finished.

“Yes…”

Castiel’s book suddenly had a whole new chapter.

“Well, explains why you and your brother don’t look nothin’ like each other,” Dean suggested lightly, and Castiel seemed to appreciate it.

From downstairs, they both waited in silent anticipation as Gabriel drilled into Chuck over Castiel’s injury. Dean felt like he’d hear an actual argument break out at any second, but all he heard from below was one-sided - only Gabriel’s voice. If it were himself or Sam going against John, the entire house would’ve been shaking, though not from the weather.

There was a pause, some murmuring, then shifting. Footsteps began slowly up the stairs, but instead of Gabriel, Chuck appeared in the door jam, looking defeated and dreadfully tired. The appearance of a man who was, just maybe, finally realizing that he had failed too many times.

“Cas, I’m so sorry - ” He promptly cut himself off upon noticing Dean, “Oh, I didn’t know you had a friend over, hey - I’m Chuck.”

“Dean.” Dean didn’t want to accept his handshake at first, but allowed himself to forgive Castiel’s father in exchange for the much-needed apology.

Chuck turned from Dean to Cas, where he carefully looked over his lip and cringed sympathetically.

“How’s it feeling?” Chuck asked carefully, a completely different shade of the person he had been earlier. His compassion was _almost_ convincing, Dean thought, but nothing a writer couldn’t draw from a character.

“A bit sore. Stings...” Castiel answered shortly, “But, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, of course you will,” Chuck agreed, giving Castiel’s shoulder a firm squeeze, “We’ll... talk about it more later. You, uh, let me know if you need anything. And, ah… guys, seriously, throw something at me next time. A book, cold water. Just whatever you need to do, okay?”

“We’ll hold ya to that,” Dean remarked boldly, and Chuck honestly looked impressed before closing the door behind him.

Castiel sighed something of relief and looked up towards his ceiling, the dull blue light of the still-muted television brightening his eyes.

“You know, for all of his failures… he _does_ try, and I suppose that counts for something,” He said, seemingly more to himself, though Dean couldn’t help but think of his own father and silently agree.

***

Despite being in a different house, room, and bed, Dean was fighting a losing battle with sleep, unlike Castiel seemed perfectly awake and immune to his yawns. He had become particularly focused on a fitting marathon of _Unsolved Mysteries_ , in which Dean continuously joked that Castiel had stolen his trench coat from the host. Castiel, of course, neither confirmed or denied it.

Dean gradually sank lower and lower into the arrangement of pillows as each episode began and ended, catching himself drifting on and off between commercial breaks. He heard the volume on the television lower after a while, and later felt a blanket being nudged towards him. He grasped it and wrapped himself up, too tired to be concerned with anything outside of his own comfort. It wasn’t until he awoke a few hours later to darkness and an empty bed that he jolted up and began looking for Castiel. Right away, he found him on the floor beside the bed, half-wrapped in a sheet Dean had been laying on in almost a tent-like fashion. The guilt hit Dean hard, and he reached for Castiel’s shoulder.

“Hey,” He whispered harshly, “Cas, get back up here, I’ll take the floor…”

Castiel, who Dean wasn’t sure had been asleep or not, looked towards him.

“Dean, I’m quite alright down here. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Cut the crap,” Dean said lowly, yanking what little of the sheet Castiel had back off of him.

Castiel grunted and sat up. “I refuse for you to sleep on the floor, Dean. There’s a couch downstairs if -”

“Just get up here with me.” Dean said suddenly. When Castiel didn’t say anything at first, he added, “C’mon, who cares.”

Castiel hesitated just slightly before crawling up onto the bed with him. Dean, still half-asleep, simply scooted towards the wall to make room for him. He could feel Castiel wanting to blurt out a flurry of “are you sure”’s and various other questions of Dean’s comfort level, but something - thankfully - made him refrain.

Dean felt it was really no different than the fields, or so he told himself. It wasn’t until he felt Castiel’s thigh nudge his own that any degree of sleepiness suddenly evaporated. Just like in the booth at the Roadhouse, it seemed any sort of touch between them, even slightly, riled a shock through him.

“Sorry…” Castiel whispered, having gone tense and motionless.

“Relax,” Dean insisted over what were his own feelings, “Y’okay?”

Cas didn’t answer at first, and once he did, he just turned the question over. “Are you?”

“Asked you first,” Dean countered, and Castiel fumbled in silence for a moment, turning his back towards Dean and taking some of the sheets with him.

“I’m fine, I just…” He trailed, and Dean caught the blankets and tugged them, forcing Castiel to turn back over again.

“What?” Dean questioned, squinting to find Castiel’s eyes in the darkness.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable? At all?” Castiel started, and suddenly Dean didn’t need to see his eyes - the doubt was entirely in his voice.

“Not really,” Dean answered calmly, letting Castiel linger for once, “Why would I be?”

“Dean, you _know_ why.” Castiel responded sternly, and Dean paused.

Before he could think of how to respond, Castiel was suddenly apologizing. Dean felt him trembling, and he fell still.

“Cas, hey…” He murmured, resting his hand over Castiel’s arm. “If this is about... you liking guys, it’s fine. I told you before, I don’t care, I…”

Castiel waited quietly for him to say anything else, but he had already faltered as the words he was about to say caught in his throat.

“You know, you’re right… I shouldn’t of placated you like that…” Dean began, “I guess the only person makin’ anyone uncomfortable here is me.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel said, “You’re perfectly fine. It’s me. I’ve… actually been needing to tell you this for a while…”

Dean no longer felt the faintest bit tired, as Castiel calmed himself. He hadn’t realized his hand had never left Castiel’s arm. Cas either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I have doubts, Dean,” Castiel began, “Constantly. Every word I say, every move I make or don’t make... I feel as though I’m in a perpetual state of self-analysis and criticism. As well as draining, it’s proved problematic, especially socially…”

Dean finally removed his hand, able to make out Castiel’s profile from the faint glow from the window. “Well, we’re all our worst critics, Cas… I beat myself to Hell a lot, too, if y’haven’t noticed…”

“I have,” Castiel agreed, “But… being _as I am_ , I feel more… isolated. Much of the time, I’m entirely unsure...”

“About what?”

“Almost... everything.”

“Well, two sides to every coin, right? Is there anything you _are_ sure about? Maybe start there.” Dean suggested, and Castiel looked away from him.

“Sure there is, but it’s nothing I can ever have.”

“Oh yeah, and how d’you know that?”

Castiel looked back to him, and grimaced. “Because of what it _is_ , Dean.”

“And what’s that?”

Before Castiel could muster an answer, a distant droning noise suddenly greeted the ambiance of the rain. If it had not been raining so consistently, it might as well have gone unnoticed for how faint it was. Dean almost felt as though he was imaging it until Castiel sat up and looked towards the window.

“You hear that too?” He asked Cas, who nodded.

“Yes, just barely…” Castiel whispered, rising up from the bed and walking towards the window.

“Careful, Cas...” Dean warned, as Castiel unlatched the window and yanked it up just slightly. His plants began to tremble, and he held them steady with his arm.

Beyond the sharp howling of the wind and rain that was no longer muffled by the window, the faint, incessant droning suddenly grew louder. The ominous, tell-tale ringing of a tornado siren.

Castiel closed the window before any more rain could blow inside, then looked to Dean.

“We should wake the others and go downstairs for the night,” He suggested, “Just in case.”

Dean nodded and collected an armful of pillows and sheets as Castiel left to get his brother and father, but before he could get to the door, he looked back over his shoulder at the window, thoughts going towards his own brother and father as a sinking feeling caught in his chest.

Tornado sirens were as common as sidewalk weeds in Lawrence, especially around the central area of the city, close to their school. It wasn’t uncommon to hear them from time to time, either from routine tests or real threats nearby. Though unsettling in either circumstance, Lawrence had proved to be particularly resilient towards them in it’s history, guarded by the Kansas River to the north and Clinton Lake to the west. Most funnels Dean had seen had either never managed to touch down or dissipated before they could really evolve into anything too damaging.

Dean had never really worried about them - Hell, finals were more intimidating, but the prospect of not being home like usual to make sure Sam was safe made things different.

“Dean, are you coming?”

Having no other choice but to ride it out, Dean shook the feeling away and followed Castiel downstairs, as Gabriel yawned a bit over-dramatically and Chuck mumbled something about them all “overreacting”.

***

Once in the living room, Gabriel claimed the armchair and Chuck retired to the kitchen to make coffee, citing he wasn’t going to manage getting back to sleep and needed to finish the rest of what he had been writing.

“That didn’t him take long,” Dean criticized, and Gabriel let out a sarcastic laugh before reclining back, leaving Dean and Castiel the option of either the couch or the floor.

Dean and Castiel both looked between each other the couch for a moment, while a coffee pot began hissing and bubbling in the other room.

“Back to square one, eh?” Dean joked as Castiel debated quietly; Dean knew Cas was going to take the floor before he put his pillow down.

In response, Dean dropped his own on the floor as well. Castiel opened his mouth the protest, but having learned from earlier, shrugged his shoulders back and sat down instead.

“It’s a perfectly good couch, Dean,” Cas remarked quietly as he organized the sheets into a makeshift bed, “...but do as you wish.”

Satisfied with Castiel’s resolve, Dean retired to the floor beside him. Hardwood wasn’t the softest in comparison to carpet, Castiel’s bed, or the temptation of the couch, but Dean wasn’t going to take in that luxury without Castiel, whether he was a guest or not.

Gabriel started snoring almost immediately, and Chuck, true to his word, began to type in the other room to the smell of fresh coffee. That, combined with the incessant rain and background worry for his father and Sam, Dean was sure he’d be awake until morning.

Castiel seemed similarly disturbed by both external and internal forces, but hadn’t seemed to notice Dean was also still awake. Dean watched him staring up at the ceiling for a while, much like he himself often did. He wondered what was on his mind and what he had been about to say before they heard the siren. Something he could never have...

“Hey,” Dean whispered to him, “Y’okay?”

“Other than strongly wishing for you to sleep on the couch, I feel fine,” Castiel admitted, “What about you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you worried about home?” Castiel asked and Dean honestly wondered if Castiel could read minds for a split-second. Maybe it was in his voice; it was always in his voice.

“Yeah. A little,” Dean agreed, “I mean, I know they’re fine. This storm isn't anything we haven't had before. It’s just…”

“Hm?”

“I just keep thinking about what my Dad said earlier,” Dean revealed, “About needin’ to think about how I could lose everything if I don’t shape up…”

“Guilt, perhaps?” Castiel suggested, and Dean found himself caught in his gaze again.

“Yeah, probably…” Dean managed a small smirk, but it was fractured.

Castiel then smiled for him. “You’re going to be alright, Dean.”

Dean stared at him, and for every pang of worry, every shadow of doubt, every stab of fear, he felt warmth as light as the sun on his skin and the feeling of grass beneath his back.

“It’s… it’s been a long time since anyone’s told me that,” Dean admitted, and whatever had cracked in his voice had also sparked in his eyes, and Castiel looked on, a sad shock forming in his eyes.

“Dean…”

Castiel reached out to him, and grasped his hand. Dean let him. Castiel delicately adjusted his fingers to interlock and said nothing else. His hands were soft, Dean noted, and fingertips calloused from playing the violin for so long. Just faintly, he could also feel his pulse, in sync with his own.

Despite the storm, the snoring, and the typing, they were comforted just enough in each other’s touch to find sleep until the sun broke through at dawn.


	8. Banshee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean had doubted the concepts of fate and divine providence ever since the house fire that took his mother. In the aftermath of the storm, he finds he can only believe in one thing - Castiel.

As Dean awoke, he first felt the warmth of the sunlight, cutting through a few gaps in the blinds over by the front window. The soreness in his back and neck from lying on the floor came after. Before he opened his eyes, he heard the muffled chirping of birds celebrating the morning. When he opened his eyes, he saw the ceiling first, though it was blurry as his senses still stirred. He tilted his head, finding Castiel still beside him, sleeping peacefully. Their hands were close, barely touching, but no longer clasped together. He didn’t care to wonder if Castiel would remember or not, and the awkward conversation that might or might not follow. Dean needed to enjoy right now, while it lasted.

The lines of sunlight from the blinds that curved over Castiel’s head revealed all sorts of different brown hues from messy tufts of hair that Dean had never noticed before; he had really believed Castiel’s hair to be much darker than it truly was. As his eyes traveled down, he noticed that Castiel’s bottom lip was still slightly swollen from the other day, a subtle but gutting reminder that quickly drew Dean away from the serenity of waking up beside someone else in the morning.

He slowly sat up so as not to disturb Castiel, and looked back over his shoulder. Gabriel was still passed out in the armchair, and the house was absent from any typing. He craned his neck around the wall to look into the study, where Chuck had fallen asleep over his beloved typewriter. Dean made small huff to himself then looked back down to Cas, parted between wanting to lie down back next to him and stepping outside to take in the smell of Lawrence after a heavy storm.

Not wanting to risk waking Cas, Dean got up and rounded the staircase towards the kitchen and approached the back door, where he carefully unlocked it and slipped outside. The damp concrete of the patio felt nice beneath his bare feet and the immediate smell of rain reached deep into his lungs. He stepped out towards the edge of the patio and swept the wet grass over with his foot and listened to the birds chirping in the oak tree, his thoughts floating back to his family.

He felt a sharp jab of anxiety suddenly and grit his teeth. He knew they were fine because he knew this kind of worry. He’d had it more than enough times to recognize it, a product of having lost his mother. A guilt-driven mental spiral of last words.

With his mother, it had been, _“You need to go to bed now, dear.”_ and _“But I’m not sleepy.”_

He felt the air thickening and his throat becoming sore.

With Sam yesterday morning, it had been about the weather.

 _“You sure you don’t want to borrow my jacket?”_ and _“C’mon, Sam, this will clear up by noon.”_

And his father…

 _“I want you to think about what you have, and how easy you can lose it all.”_ and _“Yes, sir.”_

Dean drew in a shaky breath and swallowed hard as they stepped back inside, his father’s words suddenly much more weighted.

He needed to go home.

***

When he came back in, he found Castiel stirring groggily and looking slightly out-of-place. Once Cas looked his way, and Dean didn’t even need to explain himself. Cas just knew.

“The phone is in the hallway, by the stairs.” Castiel said quietly, getting up from the floor of mismatched pillows and throws, adding, “Your father’s probably worried sick.”

Dean forced a smile, “Don't bet on it.”

Castiel, still half-asleep, began collecting up their makeshift bed, leaving Dean to call his house. He dialed in growing anticipation, split between wanting to wait until he was home to speak his Dad again and just wanting to confirm everyone was okay before he came home. He supposed if his Dad answered instead of Sam, he could hang up. Sort of like the note Dean had left for Sam by the tree, John would understand it. But after the line rang over and over with no answer, Dean finally hung up, not sure how he felt. He didn’t want to feed into is guilt any more, but at the same time, something didn’t feel right.

“Did you reach them?” Castiel asked from his bedroom, and Dean sighed as he rounded up the staircase.

“No, nobody’s pickin’ up.” Dean explained slowly, eyes down as he leaned in the doorway, “...I think I just want to head over there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Castiel offered, tossing the pillows they had borrowed onto his bed.

“You sure?” Dean asked, “I mean, it’s a real long walk, ‘specially from here...”

“I’m perfectly aware of how far you live, Dean,” Castiel said, showing his insistence by grabbing his trusty trench coat. Dean wouldn’t argue; he needed the company, less he’d wind up running the whole way home.

***

For the most part, their walk together was quiet. Castiel was much like Sam in the way he seemed to know when Dean wanted to talk and when he didn’t. Dean wasn’t so sure it was over his worrying about home or if it was over holding hands the other night. He knew the latter would have to be confronted soon, but that meant _everything_ would have to be confronted soon as well, and seeing as he couldn’t see Castiel bringing it up, it would all be on him.

But what could he say, really? It wasn’t like friends didn’t hold hands from time to time. Sure, it was more acceptable with girls he figured, but it was still a thing that happened, right? Even so, the whole ‘friend’ excuse was wearing Dean thin. He knew it had probably been that at one point, Hell - maybe for a day at best, but regardless, Dean knew he liked Castiel in a way that was beyond that for a while now. He couldn’t even pinpoint when it had happened anymore. He used to think it had been back in Crash Course, after finally talking for the first time the entire school year. But in his time with Cas, every memory Dean had of him before they met had suddenly become more clear to him: all the times he noticed Castiel walking around campus, all the times Cas was chosen to read aloud in World History (and how he didn’t stammer, stutter, or sound-out every other word like the rest of the class did), and then the one instance that he’d forgotten about until now, in which they had both become disconnected from the lecture and caught sight of each other. Dean had nodded sympathetically with him, and Cas had smiled just slightly.

Dean remembered it as the first time he’d ever seen him smile.

His heart skipped from the memory.

That had been it, all along.

Dean couldn’t continue to tell himself otherwise or make Castiel believe otherwise. He had to tell him today. For better or worse. He looked to Castiel walking quietly beside him, looking to be in as deep in contemplation as him. If Dean ever figured out what he was thinking, he would no longer be Cas.

Castiel sensed Dean staring and glanced back at him. “Did you… sleep okay? Considering... the floor.”

“You’re still on about that?” Dean smirked, “We used to camp a lot when we were younger. I used to _dream_ of sleeping on a hardwood floor.”

“I’ve never been camping.” Castiel admitted, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Heh, I don’t think that surprises me any,” Dean said, “No offense.”

Castiel smiled shyly, “None taken.”

“Maybe… we should go sometime…” Dean prodded, “After school’s out or somethin’.”

“I’d... like that,” Cas replied softly, and Dean had to swallow to keep his throat from drying out.

He needed to tell him.

“Say, Cas…” He started, causing Castiel to look up at him in such a way that he had to slam on his mental brakes and look away.

“What is it?”

Dean breathed in deeply, and forced himself to look at him. “I…”

Concern shadowed Castiel’s features and Dean suddenly felt trapped, his throat now burning.

“Nevermind,” Dean suddenly said, shaking his head, “I’ll tell you later…”

Castiel didn’t seem to be disappointed, but the concern never quite left his face either.

_‘Damn it.’_

***

After the sidewalk ended, they trudged through familiar, but muddy roadside, at one point walking onto the road to avoid a particularly deep-looking puddle. The surface was so undisturbed that they could see their reflections almost as clear as a mirror as they passed. The old wooden fence came up a few minutes of walking after that, where Dean noticed a single blue flower on the other side of one of the posts.

“Wouldja look at that,” He pointed out, “Your flower made it.”

Castiel took pause to admire it, then turned to Dean. “A good omen, perhaps?”

“Maybe just a kick-ass flower.” Dean suggested, gaining another smile from Cas before they continued on without too much farther to go.

It was only a few more feet until Dean noticed something odd in the road ahead and what had started to be something like feeling better vanished. He slowed, trying to make out what it was. Castiel caught sight of it, too, and they cautiously approached what looked to be a pile of splintered wood strewn across the asphalt. Dean felt a familiar unsettling feeling, much like he’d experienced when they had heard the tornado sirens.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for a strong gust to take up old pieces of wood from the fields and blow them down the road, but something about the _size_ of the planks and how shredded they were seemed to be the cause of something much worse than some strong wind overnight. This was the work of a twister - it was obvious. He pushed the anxiety down, and walked around it, with Castiel lingering behind.

As Dean walked further, he began to spot more and more signs of damage. The same fence that had started up near the flower was collapsed ahead, and strewn out into the field, almost like a snake, held together only by the rusted barbed wire. The fields themselves seemed to be covered in… _objects_. Dean’s heart started pounding and out of instinct, he broke out into a sprint.

His house was only the next field over - maybe it had just missed them. Maybe it had gotten close, but had just passed through enough to take a shingle or two off, maybe it _had_ hit, but they had gotten away, maybe -

Dean suddenly stumbled, and came to an abrupt stop.

He would have felt as though he had accidentally passed their house by mistake had he not known the exact field it sat in. His stomach knotted at the sight of mangled wood and shingles, remnants and pieces of what had once been a house - his house - now a twisted pile of unrecognizable debris. 

He couldn’t process it at first. 

It didn’t seem real. It didn’t _look_ real. It couldn’t _be_ real.

Castiel finally caught up to him and stopped beside him.

“Dean, I…” Castiel started quietly, the only thing to shake him from his trance.

He ran up the gravel drive; if his heart pounded any harder, it would burst. Every beat felt like he was being stabbed as his chest caved further and further inwards. Still, the extent of what was happening - what _had_ happened - didn't truly set until he saw the Impala, windows shattered and frame crushed beneath the heavy trunk of an uprooted tree.

_They hadn't left..._

“SAM!” Dean called out, rushing up to what had once been the front door - where his father had given him the keys to the Impala for the night only weeks earlier - now an empty doorframe swept completely sideways. “DAD! SAM? SAMMY!”

Dean ducked beneath the jagged doorframe and walked onto the mess of shingles that had been the roof, looking around wildly for any trace of a room still standing in the rubble - standing where the living room had been, where his Dad spent most of his time watching television or scribbling in his journal.

“Dean, be careful,” Castiel called from some distance behind him, “It's not stable -”

“I don't give a damn, Cas!” Dean argued desperately, stumbling up the planks of splintered wood towards where a single skeleton of a wall still stood upright, “Help me find them - _NOW_.”

Castiel hesitated just briefly before following Dean up the broken roof, looking for any trace of Dean's family in the rubble. The stillness and quietness was unnerving, but did give slight promise that perhaps, just maybe, John and Sam had made it to safety before the tornado had struck.

“Don't you have a shelter? Or a basement?” Cas asked Dean as calmly as he could as his own heart pulsed and squeezed with panic.

“J-Just a basement, but it's... damn it, I don't even know where the stairwell _is_ …” Dean spun around, and it was only then that Castiel saw the tears all over his face.

“Dean,” Cas said sternly, pushing his own fear aside and clambering up to him, “Close your eyes. Think about your house. Try to _remember_.”

Dean swallowed hard, then closed his eyes. The faint warmth of the early morning sun was to the east. He remembered how it came down through his bedroom window in the morning and disturbed him from sleeping in too many times to count. He turned slowly, as if leaving his room, then turned again, rounding the bottom of the stairs where the basement door was. He opened his eyes.

“I-It's this way,” He said, climbing up through two collapsed sections of the house and emerging on the other side where, sure enough, the gap where the basement stairwell was. Castiel carefully slid down the other side of the roof to watch as Dean suddenly stilled at the top of the stairs.

“Dean?” He asked.

Dean didn’t respond. He was frozen, eyes locked on something that only he could see down the stairs.

_“Dean.”_ Castiel tried again.

Dean didn’t answer him - instead, he rushed downwards and Castiel scrambled after him, sight finally catching into the small space below. At the very bottom of the steps, just out of the sunlight, he made out the frame of Dean's father, motionless and bloody. Castiel fell similarly frozen, but unlike Dean, he immediately looked away. Dean seemed to have forced himself to acknowledge it, fueled only by trying to find Sam. Castiel was only shaken out of his shock when he started to hear Dean desperately shouting Sam's name, then his.

“CASTIEL! CAS, I NEED YOU DOWN HERE!”

Castiel automatically came down the steps, forcing himself to not look at Dean's father as he passed. He only noticed that _something_ was sticking out of his body, but couldn’t bring himself to see exactly what it was. Once at the the basement level, he looked to his right and saw Dean kneeling down next to some thick, wooden shelving that had fallen sideways, with what he could make out to be Sam wedged underneath part of it. His heart sunk even lower.

“Cas, he's still breathing, you need to help me move this... c'mon…” Dean pleaded hoarsely, trembling hands finding a place to grip the shelf that had pinned Sam’s left leg.

Castiel instinctively grabbed the other side, but just before he began to help Dean hoist it off, he suddenly let go, eyes catching on something just above them.

“Dean, _STOP_.” Castiel warned quickly.

Dean’s knuckles had gone white from how hard he was gripping the shelf and he glared at Castiel in confused desperation. “The hell?! Why?!”

“Look,” Castiel told him, gesturing upwards. Dean followed his gaze up, and grimaced. 

By a cruel fate, the shelving that had trapped Sam happened to be the only thing propping up a large section of the first, and maybe even part of the second floor, above them.

“No, no way…” Dean said quietly, voice breaking.

“We can't move it or this will collapse,” Castiel confirmed, “We need to get help.”

Dean looked back down to his brother, the outline of his father just in the corner of his vision. “No, no, it'll take too long. Sam needs this off of him now, o-or - ”

“Dean. If we move this even slightly, we risk crushing him and ourselves entirely. It’s too dangerous. We need help.”

“I'm not leaving him here,” Dean shot, to which Castiel, though frustrated, conceded.

“Then _I'll_ go,” Cas said, “But you need to swear to me that you won't try moving anythin -”

“ _I won't_ \- just go, damn it! Hurry!”

Dean watched as Castiel rushed back up the stairs before his eyes locked on John, who was far too still to be alive. It looked like a jagged piece of a support beam had impaled his side, but what was worse was all the blood. Dean had never seen so much blood before. He wanted to call out to him, but when he tried, he found he no longer had a voice to shout. He could only faintly hope his Dad was still hanging on somehow.

Dean looked down to Sam, his baby brother, bruised and bloody, but _breathing_.

“Sam, I'm gonna get you outta here. Just... hang on a little longer.” Dean assured him, barely able to keep his voice from shaking.

This was his fault. He should have called sooner. He should have just gone home, despite his father, at the first sign of the storm. He shouldn’t have gotten involved in the fight the other day. He should’ve been home to protect them, but instead he had been holding hands with another guy last night. Was it Castiel’s fault? Had this happened because he had met Cas? Or was this the punishment for his feelings for him?

“...Dean...?” Sam suddenly groaned, breaking Dean from his vicious thoughts.

“Sammy?”

“Ahg…” Sam grunted, “W-What… happened…?”

“There was a tornado… do you remember?”

“Nn... where's... Dad?”

“He's…” Dean started, but broke away, “H-He's fine, you just... need to stay focused, okay?”

Sam groaned again and attempted to shift himself, to which Dean squeezed his arm tight.

“Don't move.” Dean ordered, to which Sam cringed and began to push weakly at the shelf over his leg.

“Dean, I can't feel anything,” Sam began gasping, “Everything... hurts, I can't breathe, I can’t…”

_“SAM. STOP.”_ Dean shouted, holding onto Sam even tighter as dust from the roof sifted down over them, “You’ll bring this whole thing down. Don’t move.”

Sam winced and inhaled sharply again, before forcing himself to take short, shallow breaths.

“Shhh. There you go, nice and slow, 'kay? Perfect, Sammy...” Dean encouraged, never letting go of his brother’s arm while his mind raced to where Castiel was on the whole ‘getting help’ thing.

The sound of muffled sirens not even five minutes later gave him his answer...

***

It took until the sun was nearly about to set and around a dozen members of the local fire crew to stabilize the site and safely rescue Sam from the basement. John's body was pulled first, then Sam's.

John was wrapped in a black bag. 

Sam was secured to a yellow stretcher. 

The difference between life and death.

Dean continued to stand and watch as the rest of the house collapsed into the basement only minutes after they had cleared it, causing the dust of everything that had been his life to rise up into the ominous orange glow of the sunset.

It was all gone.

***

Sam was immediately put into intensive care upon arrival at the hospital, but improved overnight with constant saline refills to combat something the doctors described as “crush syndrome”. Dean barely had the strength to react when they told him how close his little brother had been to dying or losing his leg completely. Ever since the ambulance ride, everything had sounded like it did underwater, save for the steady beeping from Sam’s heart monitor. Even as several members of the hospital staff approached him in regards to his father, he still couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. All he could process was something about a post-mortem examination, belongings, registering the death, and if there was any other immediate family. Only then did he give them a name - Bobby Singer.

“Is he of blood relation to you?”

“No. But he’s… like our uncle. He’s... the closest thing we have to family…” Dean murmured quietly, finally becoming more aware of the room around him.

Sam was resting in the hospital bed, connecting to all sorts of wires and narrow IV tubes. Hospital staff scurried back and forth with clipboards. The fluorescent light overhead flickered every few seconds. And to the chair at his side, a familiar face.

“Cas… you’re still here?” Dean asked, catching the only color in the room - a particular blue.

“I never left.” Castiel told him simply, bearing Dean no judgement or worry - just love.

Just barely, Dean felt the corners of his mouth tug before he turned to look at the floor, a thundering sound breaking from behind his jaw and seizing his throat. He felt the tears building and his shoulders trembled. Just before he felt the break begin to split him in two, the staff returned to tell him he had a call on hold for him.

“That's pro'bly Bobby…” Dean muttered, gritting his teeth and wiping his face furiously. He stood up and Castiel caught his arm.

“Dean,” Cas said, “Slowly.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, and let the reality catch back up to him before he made for the phone across the room. He might have collapsed otherwise, had Castiel not warned him of his own exhaustion.

All he needed to do was pick up the phone, but it felt like the hardest thing he ever had to do.

***

When Dean had gotten through the phone call with Bobby, he retired back to the chair beside Cas, the two of them nothing short of exhausted in every sense of the word. Eventually, Dean was lulled into a choppy sleep by Sam’s vital monitor. Whether or not Castiel also slept, he wasn’t sure, finding him in the same spot each and every time he woke and fell back asleep again. 

It would be morning before Dean finally awoke for good and Castiel convinced him to head to the lobby to meet with Bobby as Sam was to be moved from intensive care to a regular room. Everything still felt like an ongoing nightmare, with only one source of light to guide him through it. As they entered the lobby, Dean felt something fearful tug at him. He knew Cas would have to go home, but he selfishly didn’t want him to.

His panicked doubts from the basement the other morning had steadily morphed into guilt; _of course_ this wasn’t because of Castiel - let alone his feelings for Cas.

Finally, Dean spoke.

“I owe you, Cas. Big time.”

“Don't mention it.” Cas said automatically, to which Dean countered. He wasn’t having Castiel’s crap humility today.

“No, I mean it… really, if it wasn't for you, I probably would've killed all three of us yesterday. Between warnin’ me about the roof, and actually getting the help like you did, and as fast as you did... I guess even if it hadn’t collapsed, I heard ‘em say that takin’ the pressure off his leg without a tourniquet might’ve killed him… Cas, Sam’s alive because of you…”

“I was being cautious; only a minor instance of luck. I would’ve never known about the tourniquet, either. Besides, you would've done the same for me given the circumstances,” Cas replied, eyeing the floor, “I just wish... your father…”

Dean exhaled and tried to find which floor tile Cas was staring at. “Yeah, still... processing it all... I... _Sam doesn't know_. Back there, he woke up for a minute, askin’ where Dad was, and I said he was fine. I mean, I couldn't tell him or he would've Hulk'd that shelf off of himself and... well, _y'know_ …”

“Sam will understand that, Dean.” Cas assured him, though he looked just as broken as Dean felt.

“Hope so…”

Silence trailed them before Castiel eventually looked up at him. “Um... while you slept, I spoke with my father about… everything. He says you're more than welcome to stay with us, if you don't have... other arrangements…”

“Oh, well, Bobby’s on the way and all... I mean, thank you, tell him thanks...” Dean mumbled.

“Of course,” Castiel nodded understandingly, tucking his hands into his coat, “I should... um, probably go now. I think you should have some time with Sam, alone.”

“Y-Yeah. No problem.” Dean nodded, watching his friend force a smile for him and turn towards the exit, “Hey, Cas…”

“Yes?” Castiel looked back over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Dean said finally, reaching out to pull Castiel into an embrace.

Castiel, albeit a bit shyly at first, eventually leaned into him.

Dean wrapped his arms around him tightly and patted his back a few times. It took Cas a few seconds to mimic him, but once he did, a rush of warmth came over Dean. Just the simple feeling of someone's arms around him, however awkwardly or unpracticed, at a time he so desperately needed it - he couldn't describe it. It was so profound, that even when Cas gently began to pull away, Dean didn't. He couldn't. He just needed it a little longer. He needed this comfort. He needed whatever this feeling was. He needed Cas.

As Dean hugged him even tighter, Castiel, although confused, continued to hold onto him and allowed the moment to last. Even with the eyes of collective strangers shooting holes into his subconscious, Cas didn't waiver again until he felt Dean begin to tremble.

“Dean...?” He asked unsurely.

Dean's grip on his coat had significantly tightened and his forehead tilted down to rest on Cas's shoulder. Suddenly, the strangers glancing at them no longer mattered anymore. Dean Winchester was crying into him, all his walls were down, and if needed, Cas would stand there forever.

It took only another minute or so for Dean to finally collect himself and break away from Cas. His face was streaked with tears, but the walls were back up in the form of an embarrassed smile. A funny remark would follow - Cas was sure of it.

“Hope your jacket ain't polyester.”

_There it was._

“Heavy cotton.” Cas responded matter-of-factly, straightening the coat.

Dean wiped his face again for good measure, then shook his head and sniffled, voice not far from cracking; his throat stressed raw from shouting and crying for the past twenty-four hours. 

“Why do you wear that thing all the time, anyways...? You never told me. Security blanket?”

“I hope this doesn’t dissapoint you, but honestly, I just like it,” Cas shrugged.

Dean, despite all the pain resting so heavily on his shoulders, was able to truly smile - just slightly. Just for Cas, and only Cas.

The automatic doors behind them parted, and Dean looked up to see Bobby worriedly rush in. Cas watched as they both paused in sight of each other, and Bobby immediately ran for Dean. Castiel stepped aside so they could share a quick hug in which he noticed that Bobby's eyes reminded him a little of Dean's; it was in the way that the remnants of grief were there, but similar walls were up. Two people trying to stay strong when circumstances were beyond their limits. Bobby patted Dean's back, a little too hard in Cas's opinion, and whispered something along the lines of “I'm sorry” a few times.

Dean was crumbling again, but caught himself before he could break down again by pulling away from Bobby and immediately looking to Castiel.

Bobby followed his gaze and then looked back to Dean, asking, “Is he the guy?”

Dean nodded and Bobby instantly put a firm hand on Cas's shoulder.

“You. Dean told me everything already. As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the family now - Cas, in'it?”

“Yes, sir.” He answered, side-eyeing Dean who was looking at him proudly.

“Where's Sam?” Bobby asked of Dean, “Is he doing okay?”

"Third floor. Room fourteen. He's got busted leg that he's sleeping off, but other than that and a few scratches, they said he's gonna be fine." Dean answered, to which Bobby sighed with relief and asked to go see him.

“Yeah, hang on a sec, Cas was just - ”

“I'm going to be heading out anyways, you both go on ahead.” Castiel insisted.

“Do you have a ride home?” Bobby interjected.

“Oh, I was going to walk - ” Cas started, before Bobby cut him off.

“Dean, take my damn keys and give Cas a ride home, wouldja? I'll watch Sam. Go on.”

“You're... letting me drive?”

“You really want to question that now, boy? I trust you. Go on.”

The extremely faint happiness from being given keys to a car failed Dean as soon as they stepped outside. He stopped just short of Bobby's faded and slightly rusted ‘71 Chevelle, thoughts going back to the Impala's wrecked frame. Castiel stepped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What's the matter?”

Dean drew in a sharp breath and shook his head. “It's stupid, Cas. Really stupid. Just get in.”

Castiel ignored him as they settled inside the Chevelle. “I doubt it's stupid, Dean.”

Knowing Cas wouldn’t let up, Dean took in a breath and clutched the unfamiliar steering wheel tightly. “I... I just feel like it's really starting to hit me now…”

“You can talk to me...”

“The... car, the house... Dad… everything, I mean, it's... all of it's… it’s really gone, isn’t it?” Dean trailed off, tears threatening him once again. “It's like none of this is real right now...”

Castiel continued to listen to him closely.

“I... don't know what's gonna happen. I don't know what Sammy'll do…” Dean began to ramble, “I still can't tell him.”

“Dean, you _need_ to tell him - ”

“No. Bobby’ll have to do it or something. I can't. I can't look him in the eye and tell him Dad didn't make it.”

“He needs to hear it from _you_ , Dean.” Castiel said sternly, Dean's words coming from his mouth.

Dean paused, then sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right.”

He glanced over at Castiel in the passenger seat, the quiet guy from World History who he had basically ignored all year, and wondered just how many other important people he'd looked past throughout his life. Here he was, with his world flipped upside down and torn to shreds, and here was this person he'd gotten stuck with in Crash Course for a week literally saving their lives. It was almost as if...

“So, are you like an angel or somethin', Cas?”

Castiel smiled briefly, “That's a nice compliment. But no.”

“Let’s get you home.”


	9. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In darkness, sometimes there are glimpses of light.

Dean arrived back to the hospital, having already forgotten most of the drive to and from Castiel’s. In hindsight, Bobby probably shouldn’t have let him drive, but Cas had kept him focused enough; not so much in conversation (there wasn’t any) but just in the duty a driver had to his passenger. An important passenger, at that.

He had wanted to talk more, sure, about everything - Hell, _anything_ \- but words felt more and more impossible to produce. His throat wasn’t so much sore, as it was numb. His thoughts effortlessly looped back to his father, to Sam, and to their house collapsing. His hands would tighten around the wheel, and from the corner of his eye he would notice Cas make a concerned glance towards him. Talking to him would stop the loop, Dean knew it would, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say under the shadow of all that had happened. Due to a similar silence, Dean knew Cas must’ve felt the same.

Still, as he pulled up to the corner house, there was the faintest flicker of comfort in their usual goodbyes - the only words Dean could bring himself to say.

_“Tomorrow?” Dean had always asked._

_And Castiel would nod. “Tomorrow.”_

Dean, guided safely back only by the promise of that tomorrow, turned the engine off and the rattling of the Chevelle finally ceased with an unsatisfying squeal. His heart squeezed as a sharp memory of the ruined Impala resurfaced, followed by his father at the bottom of the stairs. He felt his body freeze, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly, holding the tears back on instinct.

_“Men don’t cry, Dean.”_

His father’s voice, only a memory now. 

He trembled for a few seconds, begging himself not to cry before he mistakenly glanced at the empty passenger seat. His breath caught and something dark stirred in his chest. In realizing his first instance of solitude since the disaster, gravity set in, and only then did Dean let it take him. He punched the steering wheel a few times, only to collapse over it, unable to control his grief and the tears that came with it.

***

Before Sam could open his eyes, he felt a horrible chill and weakly reached for his blankets that, upon feeling them, quickly realized weren’t his own. He mumbled something to himself, and continued to fidget for them anyways, body trembling from the sheer coldness of the room. Why was it so cold? Wasn’t it almost summer? He had remembered having ice cream with Jess, his brother, and Cas. Ice cream. He shivered again.

“Sam?” He heard someone call out him, “Sam!”

It wasn’t his father or his brother, but whoever they were seemed just as familiar.

Sam cringed and forced his eyes open, a fluorescent white blur of a sterile hospital room setting in first before he noticed his Uncle Bobby standing worriedly at his side.

“Bobby?” He rasped, before looking around the room for his brother. He was in a hospital bed. Dean wasn’t there. His father wasn’t there, either. The panic set in. Something had gone terribly wrong, but he couldn’t recall what - was it a car accident? “Wh-Where’s Dean?”

“Dean’s okay,” Bobby assured him, “Took Castiel home, should be back any minute.”

“Cas?” Sam repeated, looking back to Bobby, then to the various IV’s attached to his arm. He could feel a faint pain in his leg as more and more of his senses tuned in, but he wouldn’t dare remove the sad excuse for a blanket the hospital had provided him with as he continued to tremble. He’d never felt so cold in his life. He’d die from the cold before whatever else had him in this bed...

“Both of ‘em stayed with you all night until I could get here,” Bobby explained of Dean and Cas, “But don’t worry, Sam. They’re both _fine _.”__

_“Where's... Dad?”_

 _“H-He's fine, you just... need to stay focused, okay?”_

__Sam swallowed hard and looked down as he remembered the deep howling of the winds and first booming cracks of the house splitting apart above him. He remembered John shouting for him to stay put, to cover his head. He had been right there with him one second, and the next..._ _

__Sam only remembered him suddenly getting up and running for the stairs…_ _

__Sam heard the monitor over his head start to beep faster: his heart rate. Hearing it only made it worse, and Sam felt his breath catching in his throat. His chest felt hollow, as if his heart was going to slip out of it. Nausea set in next, and now he had to literally gasp for air. He quickly sat up from the bed, and the needles taped onto his skin bit him back, ensuing even more panic throughout his core. He grit his teeth and without a second’s hesitation, pulled one out._ _

__Bobby began to yell at him, but Sam ignored him and yanked out anything and everything connected to him, along with the monitor attached to his finger, causing the machine to flat-line and sound off an alarm. As the edges of his vision began to blacken, Bobby was grabbing him by his shoulders. He was dying - where was Dean?_ _

__Several nurses burst into the room and there was a chorus of shouting over the alarm that became a sharp, high-pitched ringing. It didn’t stop for Sam until he saw his brother push past all of them and dive to his side._ _

__“SAM!”_ _

__***_ _

__Dean had been wiping his face for about the hundredth time on the way up to Sam’s room, determined that his brother wouldn’t see any sign of the wreck he’d been in Bobby’s car just a few minutes ago._ _

_“If you’re going to protect Sam, you have to be a man. And men don’t cry, Dean.”_

__Dean had just mustered his game face when he heard the alarm go off from down the hallway. Staff rushed past him and he looked ahead as they booked it towards Room 14 - Sam’s room. His heart took a nosedive and he darted after them, giving no concern to how hard he pushed his way through all the multi-colored scrubs to see that Sam was sitting up, having torn off all of his wires and tubes, fearfully looking around at everyone as if they were demons. Blood was already spotting his gown and the sheets from his arms, and his horror only seemed to cease once their eyes met. It only took that second’s confirmation between them - _“You’re okay?”_ \- before Sam inhaled back relief and eased himself back down. The nurses were visibly pissed and quickly forced Dean and Bobby out of the room to fix the damage before anything else could be said._ _

__“Did you tell him?!” Dean immediately demanded of Bobby, who’s face twisted into offense._ _

__“Tell him what?!”_ _

__“About Dad!” Dean choked, voice cracking, paying no mind to the scene they were stirring up in the hallway._ _

__“No! 'Course not!” Bobby retorted, suddenly less agitated and more understanding, “He asked where you were, and all I said was you were fine! He hadn’t even been awake for ten seconds, Dean - tops!”_ _

__Dean exhaled and turned away from Bobby, holding his fist to his mouth. His body wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. He was one more shock away from being put in a damn hospital bed himself. He focused on breathing for a minute, and Bobby gave him space. Once grounded again, Dean glanced back over his shoulder._ _

__“H-How do I tell him, Bobby?” Dean asked suddenly, and any anger between them, had there really been any in the first place, blew away._ _

“You just... _do_ , Dean,” Bobby said after a deep sigh, “Sam ain’t no idjit, y’know. If you don’t tell him, he’d figure it out himself anyway. Probably already suspects something considerin’ _that_ just now...” 

__Dean crossed his arms tightly and tilted his head back, just as Room 14’s door reopened and the team of disgruntled nurses filed back out. One of them stopped short of Dean and Bobby, then smiled sympathetically._ _

__“He’s... asking for his brother over and over, I’m assuming that’s you,” She explained, eyeing Dean, “We gave him a small sedative, so he might fall asleep soon. Until then, try to make sure he doesn’t do that again.”_ _

__Dean quietly looked to Bobby, who just nodded to him and opted to wait outside. Dean balled his fists up, hesitating, before remembering Castiel’s words, and his own._ _

_“He needs to hear it from you, Dean.”_

_“You need to tell me yourself, Cas.”_

__It was easier said than done, especially upon shutting the door behind him and taking in Sam sitting up in the hospital bed and looking at him sadly. Bobby was right, that a part of Sam already knew, but nothing made it any less easier for Dean to pull a stray chair up to Sam’s side and sit beside him and confirm what he still couldn’t believe himself._ _

__“IV pull, huh? Practicing for the silver screen?” Dean managed to joke as he looked at Sam’s freshly bandaged arms and newly-attached IVs. Blood was still on his gown, but he had new blankets - better ones, it seemed._ _

__Sam looked to Dean and braved a smile. Pulling the IV hurt hurt way more than the actors in movies made it out to be, that much was true._ _

__“Well, I’ve always liked doing my own stunts, I guess…” Sam mumbled._ _

__“That you do…”_ _

__A silence where there should have been a laugh lapsed a little too long and Dean swallowed hard._ _

__“So, you remember anything?” Dean asked first, and Sam eventually looked down and nodded._ _

__“Not much, but I remember... it started getting really loud - the wind. Dad came and got me… I think he we were both already up, just listening to it for a while before it started getting bad. We went straight to the basement, then… I don’t know, Dean, everything was shaking, and Dad… I just remember him taking off...”_ _

__“Taking off?” Dean repeated._ _

__“He…” Sam paused, then looked back up from the floor towards his brother, “He said something, but I don’t remember Dean, I… I’m sorry.”_ _

__Dean sat back slowly as Sam’s hands balled into fists and they both looked towards the window._ _

__“Is Dad…?” Sam started. It was already in his voice. Bobby had been right. He knew, but was holding onto a shred of hope - a shred of hope that Dean was about to take away from him._ _

__Dean waited for Sam to look back to him before he confirmed it._ _

__“He didn’t make it, Sam.”_ _

__Sam acknowledged him with a strange, sad smile before his face twisted into grief and more tears fell. Dean felt his own falling from his chin before he even realized it. He cursed himself for it, then reached out to take his brother’s hand. They squeezed each other as tight as they could, unable and unwilling to feel anything else._ _

__***_ _

__In the days following, Dean essentially lived at the hospital with Sam, who was more often than not, asleep under the amount of painkillers they had him on. In the most recent update, Dean had learned Sam was at risk of developing hyperkalaemia; Dean wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it sounded bad. The injury to his leg was worse than he thought, too, but thankfully Sam was officially cleared from any more amputation talk. Even so, there was a looming chance he might not be able to walk again. Only two months of rehabilitation and crappy hospital food would tell, and Dean could neither bring himself to be hopeful or hopeless - only numb._ _

__While Dean sat in a daze, Bobby took care of the onslaught of paperwork in a motel across the street and made what seemed like over a hundred phone calls during all hours of the day, only stopping to knock back a drink here and there while he sat on hold. For the most part, it was complex insurance-related things that Dean wouldn’t of been able to understand even if he had been in a proper mindset. Eventually though, the matter of John’s funeral came up and Dean had to take the responsibility of naming the time and place. And according to Bobby, it had to be soon._ _

__“I… need a minute.” Dean said over his shoulder as he left the room, leaving Bobby to sigh and stare at the wall._ _

__Dean sought out a payphone outside and took the last few quarters in his pocket to call one of the only people who really made any sense to him. He wasn’t thrilled when someone else answered._ _

__Chuck’s voice was groggy. “Who’s this?”_ _

__“It’s Dean.”_ _

__“Oh,” Chuck said, before seeming to snap awake, “Oh! Hey - hi Dean. Castiel… told me everything, I... how are you holding up?”_ _

__Dean shrugged to himself and looked up at the hospital across the street, where Sam was sleeping away. “As well as I can be, I guess. Is Cas there?”_ _

__“Not right now, but probably soon. School and stuff.”_ _

__Dean cringed and leaned into his elbow against the payphone stand as the realization hit him._ _

__“School was today?”_ _

__He could’ve sworn it was tomorrow..._ _

__“Well, yeah, I mean _technically_ school was Monday, but the suspension was lifted yesterday, so…”_ _

__Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and even more confusion set in - it was as if Chuck was speaking a different language. “Wait - what’s today, then?”_ _

__“Wednesday…” Chuck trailed off as Dean lost his focus staring at a black ‘67 Firebird that could’ve been the Impala’s little sister before Chuck spoke up again, “Hey, are you sure you’re okay? Castiel said you’re staying at a motel with your uncle. Uh, I’m sure it’s been awhile since you two had a good meal - you’re welcome over tonight, if you want.”_ _

__“I… thank you, but I… kinda want to stay close to my brother right now. Maybe next time.” Dean explained as the Firebird rumbled past and then around the corner. He thought about the Impala, then the open road. Cas riding shotgun with the window rolled down, Sam sprawled out in the backseat reading a book. An endless landscape with no buildings for miles on end._ _

__“Um, anyway, I’ll let Castiel know you called.” Chuck was saying as Dean finally came out of his sudden trance._ _

__“Thanks, Chuck. Say, um, real quick - is Cas… is he good?”_ _

__“He’s great!” Chuck said automatically, “I mean, he’s been pretty worried about you, but uh, he seems fine otherwise… I guess. Why, was something up?”_ _

__“Nah, just… checkin’.”_ _

__Dean half-thanked Chuck and hung up just before the pay phone began to warn him over how many minutes were left on the call. He looked from hospital and then to the motel, then down the road towards home. Or where his home had once stood. The wind suddenly picked up, scattering city debris in a swirling dance around him before settling back down. Only a single leaf from the pile continued on down the road. Dean paused and thought about the leaf that had landed by Castiel, and the conversation they’d had that day._ _

_“What are your folks like, Cas?”_

_“I never knew my mother… as for my father, he’s not very present.”_

__Dean wondered what was worse: a father who wasn’t emotionally present or a father who wasn’t present at all._ _

__The leaf continued to slide along down the road until Dean lost sight of it past an intersection. He felt the smallest urge to follow it, to go back to the fields, but he couldn’t move an inch more away from the hospital - from Sam. He shook his head and turned away._ _

__It wasn’t like there was anything left out there for him anyway._ _

__

__***_ _

___One week later…_

***

John Winchester was buried alongside their mother, Mary Winchester, on an unusually cold morning on the first day of June, a Sunday, cremated in a plain, pine box. Dean didn’t remember much of the funeral, too lost in staring at the small hole dug out next to his mother’s headrest. His brother was situated in a wheelchair, still unable to stand. One of the nurses from the hospital was nearby to help him, on her own accord; the idea of Sam missing his father’s funeral had struck something personal within her, and with her help they’d managed a temporary release for the occasion. As soon as John’s ashes were buried, however, Sam would have to go straight back to the hospital for the remainder of the summer. Jessica stood tall for Sam, hands held securely on his shoulders, and it was the first time Dean had ever seen her wear anything black.

Castiel was on the other side of them with his brother, Gabriel, both in black suits; the most dressed up of those who were there. Chuck had situated himself more towards the back, away from everyone, either pale from the solemnity or from never going outside, maybe both. To Dean’s right, Bobby was barely keeping it together, unable to look at either him or Sam as their father was placed beside their mother.

The preacher, also from the hospital, went on and on about Heaven and eternal life, but all Dean began to hear was the storm beginning to stir above them. He noticed Castiel look up, having sensed it, too. Dean followed his gaze towards the sky and saw the faintest outline of the sun trying to break through the clouds. Dean wasn’t sure if it would, as the clouds looked too intense. As the dirt was shoveled in, Dean continued to look up as the clouds shifted westward, quicker and quicker, until a single ray split through the smallest gap imaginable and down unto them.

The cemetery was enveloped with a sudden, faint warmth, and Mary’s headstone began to shine, casting a glint in Dean’s eyes. He looked directly to Cas, who looked back to him.

_“You see it, too?”_

It was as if they were the only ones who had noticed; the preacher was still rambling about things, set in script-mode, and everyone else was either watching him or staring sadly at their muddy dress shoes. Dean looked to Sam, who he found to be hunched over, crying. He immediately knelt at his side and grabbed his hand.

“Sammy,” He said quietly, “Sam, it’s alright.”

Sam opened his eyes and looked at him, clearly confused. Dean looked to Mary’s headrest and then Sam noticed the light, too. Dean watched the realization take over him, and Sam squeezed his hand. Jessica looked between them, trying to find whatever it was, but a heavy cloud stole the sky back and the sunlight faded once more.

***

Flowers were set down by guests as a steady drizzle set in. The preacher finally retired, leaving Dean and Sam to be by themselves for a while. Jessica, Castiel, Bobby, and Sam’s nurse stood under a nearby tree for shelter while Chuck and Gabriel began bickering over something on their way towards the parking lot. Castiel watched them for a moment, and as their voices raised, he quickly dismissed himself and angrily headed after them.

“These kinda things tend to bring out all sorts of emotions,” Bobby said of the Novaks, as Jessica looked over at the Winchester brothers sadly.

“I wouldn’t know,” She murmured, “This is my first one.”

***

Neither Sam or Dean had much to say, both swaying back and forth between disbelief and acceptance. The only thing that really felt real was the rain hitting their skin. After a few minutes, Sam finally glanced up at his older brother. It was odd as he usually had to look down at him.

“So, what now?” He asked.

Dean was aware of Sam looking at him, but kept a stern gaze on the fresh pile of flowers at their feet. John probably would’ve hated them. 

“You rest for a while,” Dean said dryly, “Focus on healin’ up, walkin’ again - ”

“You sound like the doctors. I got that part. I meant, what about… after that? Hell, Dean, what about _you_?”

“What _about_ me?”

Sam exhaled. Another one of Dean Winchester’s walls. “What are you gonna do?”

“Wait for you.”

“For two months?” Sam questioned.

“As long as it takes, Sam.”

“What about school? Aren’t finals tomorrow?”

“Couldn’t care less.”

“But Dad - ”

“Dad isn’t here, Sam.” Dean retorted angrily, and at last, Sam had found the weak spot in the wall.

“But, still, Dean he wanted you to graduate - ”

“Think I don’t know that? You know, maybe if I wasn’t dealin’ with the fact I just lost the bastard, and almost lost you, I’d be studyin’ up right now.”

Distant thunder rumbled somewhere on the horizon and Sam swallowed hard, then sniffled. “I... didn’t mean it like that, I just… look, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t be sorry, I get it, okay? I’m just… drained, Sam. It’s like I _can’t_ care, even though I know I _should_. I can’t cry, even though I want to. I can’t…” Dean felt his voice crack and he bowed his head, “I can’t feel anything. Not a damn thing.”

Sam grimaced and stayed quiet. The sound of the rain suddenly quickened around them and Sam felt his hair begin to dampen and start to stick to his face. He knew he had to get out of the downpour as it’d ruin the dressings around his leg, but he was too preoccupied trying to find the right words to say to his brother. “Sorry” wasn’t good enough, “I know how you feel” wasn’t good enough... _he_ wasn’t good enough. Not to John, not to Dean. Useless. Maybe that was why when Jess suddenly ran up, urging that he needed to get out of the rain, that he conceded so easily.

“Meet you back at the room.” Was all he could mumble to Dean as his fingers fought for a proper grip on the wheelchair. The sogginess of the grass made it all the more difficult. Jess and the nurse pushed to help him, and he couldn’t bring himself to refuse them and do it on his own.

_‘I’m useless.’_

Dean merely allowed them leave, so lost in his mind that he didn’t realize how upset Sam had become. He looked at the spot of grass between his parents. What did any of this mean? What did _they_ mean - what had they _meant_? Was that really what life was? Some fleeting amount of years, struggling just to get by - for what? To die in a house fire? To have a son who could barely get through high school and a decrepit farm house that couldn’t withstand a small tornado? Dean grit his teeth. Unlike him, Sam had always been good, maybe _he_ was what they meant - not like John ever saw it, though. He’d always been too stuck on Mary dying over Sam to love him the way he needed to. So much so, that he never gave Sam a single memory of her. He literally took them to the grave, just as Dean had always thought he would, and with those memories gone, it was almost as if his mother had just died all over again. 

They didn’t even have her picture anymore…

Dean grit his teeth and closed his eyes as his throat went tight.

“Y’know, whatever angels you said were watching over us are sure doin’ a bang-up job down here, Mom…” He muttered bitterly as he clenched his fists.

“Dean?”

He heard the hesitant voice of Cas somewhere behind him and turned around. Sure enough, Cas was standing a short distance away from him, soaked from head-to-toe with both rain and worry.

“Thought you might still be here,” Dean told him flatly, to which Cas just bit his lip and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“I wasn’t sure if I should go…” Castiel started, looking oddly exasperated, “Father and Gabriel already left, but I… I wanted to stay.”

“It’s fine,” Dean assured him, sighing, “I’m... glad. I’m glad you stayed.”

Cas took the opportunity to come to his side and they both went quiet for a while, watching raindrops slide off of the plastic-wrapped roses as the rain settled down to a small drizzle.

“How’s school?” Dean asked suddenly, causing Cas to shoot him a confused look.

“School is… school,” Cas answered slowly, “I think everyone knows about... what happened. It’s been strangely quiet.”

“Yeah, doesn’t surprise me,” Dean shrugged, doubting that most of the school's sympathy was very real, “What about you, though? Dick Roman leavin’ you alone?”

Castiel took a few seconds too long to answer. “I’m fine. Richard’s… _kept his distance_.”

Dean turned to Cas to meet his eyes and gauge the real truth, “What’s that supposed mean - ‘kept his distance’? Is he leavin’ you alone?”

Castiel must’ve had trouble lying as he quickly looked away.

“That a ‘no’?” Dean pressed further, watching as Castiel’s shoulders stiffened.

“Don’t you have bigger concerns right now?” Cas finally responded, “Don’t worry about me, Dean. _Please_.”

Dean looked him over, wanting to argue about it. He wanted to tell him that the people he cared about always had room for concern. He wanted to tell him he’d do anything to protect him, even if he was shit at protecting people lately. He wanted to tell Cas a lot of things, but as his eyes fell back onto his parents’ graves, he found he was unable to, too drained to even try.

The drizzle suddenly came to a sharp stop, but the clouds bore no signs of breaking again. Rain was on the forecast for the next few days, but warmer temperatures were expected to follow. Spring would finally be over, with an uncertain summer to follow.

Dean had never cared for uncertainty; not in the weather, not in his family, and definitely not in himself. Before, it had been the shared shadow of all Lawrence High School seniors: what is going to happen to me after school? Now it was everything from that, to whether or not his brother would ever walk again. Dean shivered and mirrored Cas by tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Would you... like to be alone?” Cas asked slowly, and Dean shook his head.

“Y’know, not really...” Dean said, shuddering again, “I think... it’s the last thing I want.”

Castiel finally met his gaze and offered a faint smile.

“Let’s get out of the cold, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wheeww, so... this took a very, very long time and I apologize. '^' honestly, i kinda gave up for a while, and lots of life stuff was going on. happy to be back and continue this. New chapters will be coming a lot sooner from here on out. sooner as in not 5+ months apart. thanks x100 for reading, hope you're all enjoying season 13 so far!


	10. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas used to wonder if he was the only one who could see it, the glimpses of hurt in Dean’s eyes, but he never dared give himself that much credit.

Castiel had never experienced death before.

The absence of his mother had always made him feel as though he had, but in watching Dean’s family struggle to hold it together, he had resigned to the fact he truly didn’t know. The one or two instances in which he’d met Dean’s father could never compare to the lifetime that Dean had just lost. All Castiel could wonder was when Dean would be back to smiling, or if he ever would again.

The latter terrified him.

When they arrived at the motel after the funeral, Cas stayed near the door and merely observed as Dean’s uncle headed straight to the mini-fridge for a beer and Dean kicked off his boots near one of the beds, a great deal of exhaustion shared between them. Cas was a little surprised when Bobby dug out three beers and offered them out - it seemed as though every time he was with Dean Winchester, alcohol was closeby.

As Bobby handed him the bottle, he noticed Dean shoot them both a small look - just for a second - before some kind of mild acceptance took over and migrated him to the couch. Dean, Cas realized, was too tired to fight it. Castiel, though still unsure, politely accepted the offer and went to sit beside Dean. As he pondered over whether or not he would need a bottle opener, Dean twisted the cap off of his own by only using his thumb as if it were the hundredth beer he’d had - as if he was well into his twenties.

Maybe in a way, he was.

Even before the moment Dean had first started talking to him, Castiel had noticed the scars. They were hard to see, usually hidden behind a billion-watt smile and leather jackets as Dean walked through the school halls, parting seas of students with zero effort and catching everyone’s attention whether he tried to or not. Castiel had seen past it, though. He looked to the one place where there was always truth: the eyes.

Sure enough, Dean’s pain was right there, like a storm building up behind a line of trees, billowing up in the rare moments Dean wasn’t surrounded by a triage of “fans”. Cas found that it was especially prominent in the quieter moments of World History, while they worked on vocabulary assignments or chapter tests. Most of the time, the only pen that wasn’t moving in the room was Dean’s, and the look on his face seemed… well, _empty_ , as if he were a million miles away...

Cas used to wonder if he was the only one who could see it, the glimpses of hurt in Dean’s eyes, but he never dared give himself that much credit. He didn’t know Dean, and at the time, had resigned to the fact he never would. In fact, he made sure of it, always looking away before Dean could notice him staring. He wasn’t so much afraid Dean would harm him (Dean seemed fairly neutral towards everyone, after all), but the company he kept, which seemed to be about everyone, would.

They day Castiel'd had his outburst, and the Lawrence student body confirmed the years-long rumors of him being gay, there had started this sudden, outward avoidance, as if he had a _disease_. Even in the most crowded of hallways, students would dodge him, seemingly afraid that even brushing slightly against his backpack would somehow “turn them”. Not long after that, it became not so much a real fear, but a joke among his peers. They started to over-dramatize the “dodging” for quick laughs as he went from class-to-class. Irritating? Sure, but still tolerable. When that became old, the slurs started up, each one somehow more worse than the next. Cas hoped he’d become numb to it, too, but each word cut a little more out of him. And when the slurs, too, became old, the physical repercussions manifested: bumping, tripping, shoving, and sometimes, _punching_.

Personally, Castiel had preferred the initial avoidance.

The only place where Castiel felt he was safe was in his orchestra class, where he wasn’t avoided, or messed with, but _appreciated_ \- if only for his instrumental talent. Anna, Inias, and Uriel had gravitated right away after hearing him play for the first time, clearly impressed and relieved to have him in the group. When the school-wide report of his orientation came into play, their interactions with him didn’t seem affected. Castiel actually found their continued kindness to be _suspicious_ , but, like a gasp of air from beneath an endless ocean, he took it, even though the possibility of them merely using him for his skill was all-too-real. He didn't care, as long as he had _someone_.

Castiel was never truly certain of their loyalties until the day Anna stuck up for him outside of class when she overheard a band student call out a slur towards him. Needless to say, that student never looked his way again. Only a week following that, Uriel had found him practically hiding in the storage room before passing period and, unprompted and without asking thing, escorted him to his next class, his height and intense gaze something Castiel’s ever-changing abusers wouldn’t bother messing with.

It took a lot longer for Castiel to confirm Inias’s friendship, several months into his senior year when he arrived at the Winter Art Festival an hour early. Inias had also gotten there early, and neither of them said much of anything to each other until Inias eventually told Cas that he made him “less weird” for being so quiet all the time. Castiel had been happy to agree, and they'd opened up from there. Turned out, Inias had only been shy of him.

Unfortunately though, due to Lawrence’s new application of a block bell schedule, Castiel was lucky if he had orchestra three times a week, and always dreaded the weeks where it was only twice. Eventually, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stay home on the days he didn’t have orchestra. It wasn’t like his father noticed or cared. The school did, however, and despite maintaining passing grades, Castiel found that he was forced into the Crash Course program to make up for the truancy issues.

Then…

_“Hey, World History, right?”_

Dean Winchester, the guy every girl wanted and who every guy wanted to be. The most popular kid in school who somehow wasn’t associated with the football team or the student council. A blazing, gigantic spotlight that Castiel didn’t want to be anywhere near, yet…

_“At least I don’t have to be in Hell alone.”_

_“We've been in the same class all year and I hardly know you.”_

_“I was lookin’ for you all day.”_

_“What are your folks like, Cas?”_

_“Tomorrow?”_

There was a certain warmth about Dean in a place Castiel had found to be colder than the winters in Pontiac. It was almost if Lawrence High had morphed from some ominous prison to a place he was somehow looking forward to going to, even more than orchestra class - but, like many instances of happiness, it didn’t last long.

The closer he got to Dean Winchester, the more his anxiety gradually turned into full-blown panic. He could already hear the whispers and feel more eyes on him than normal. People had started talking. It was only a matter of time before Dick Roman and his cohorts, Edward and Chet, pinned him in a stairwell one morning to confront him over it.

Of all of the students who seemed to be the most concerned with Castiel being the gay kid, Richard Roman took it to another level. In terms of popularity, he was actually on par with Dean, but for vastly different reasons. Once the student body president of Lawrence, before losing out his senior year to a kid named Kevin Tran, Richard had a rather particular idea of how the school was ran, the role each student played, and how he could manipulate both students and staff for his own interests. If for any reason Richard decided he didn’t like somebody, he could, far too easily, convince others to join him in his reasoning, however skewed and misplaced it was. Unlike Dean, whose influence came from being an attractive, class clown-type, Richard’s control was almost directly derived from the opposite: fears and falsehoods. 

Edgar, ever the right-hand man, stood immediately beside Richard with a faint grin and his hands clasped together while Chet looked out for any witnesses.

“I heard you’ve been hanging out with Dean lately,” Richard started, and Castiel’s heart dropped at the sound of Dean’s name coming from his mouth, “Is that true?”

“We haven’t been ‘hanging out’ - it’s a school program,” Cas explained quickly, heart pounding, “We were _forced_ to go - ”

“Were you forced to sit together, too?” Edgar cut in, causing Castiel to look away from them. How did they know? Someone there must have told them. What _else_ did they know?

_“Are we… friends?”_

_“Well, yeah… I guess so?”_

“You’re a walking virus, Castiel,” Richard said, squeezing Castiel’s shirt tighter as he held him in place, “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re trying do…”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed, and Roman smiled something sickly. Cas looked between him and Edgar, confused and anxious, wanting nothing more than someone - anyone - to come around the corner and save him, to finally see Dick Roman for the twisted, evil person he was...

“Nobody started wearing flannels and leather jackets around here until Dean Winchester did. Someone like you gets _his_ approval, you get the _entire_ school’s approval, and infect everyone - just like the jackets, suddenly it’s okay to be gay, too,” Richard explained, “It’s a good plan, Castiel. I’ll actually give you points for creativity.”

“There’s no plan. And the only one infecting anyone around here is _you_ ,” Castiel argued, momentarily shocking Richard - normally he never said anything back, normally he would never dare.

In response, Richard grit his teeth and pulled him from the wall, only to slam him back against it again, and lift him from the floor. Cas heard the stitching of his jacket rip as Edgar made the circle around them tighter. Chet looked up and around the stairs, but there was no one. There was _always no one_...

“People like _you_ need to stay away from people like _him_ ,” Richard warned, but Castiel’s mind was on something else, “It’s unnatural. _You_ are unnatural.”

_“Look, I don’t want you, your friends, or anybody else out there being intimidated by anyone else, especially me, okay?”_

“What if I don’t?” Cas found himself saying, “You’ll beat me up? Like you do anyway?”

Richard scoffed, and with only a gesture, had Edgar take him and throw him to the ground.

“Oh, I’ll do much worse,” Richard smirked, as Castiel attempted to crawl away from them, “I’ll tell Dean all about you. Obviously that idiot has no idea as to what you _are_ and I highly, highly doubt that you’ve told him yourself...”

Before Cas could even _conceive_ how inappropriately Richard would reveal his orientation to Dean, he felt a swift kick to his stomach. Somehow, the feeling of Roman confronting Dean over him felt worse. Castiel knew somewhere, deep down, that Dean wouldn’t care; Dean was possibly the most down-to-Earth kid in the entire school, but if he were to think Castiel had only been trying to use him for his status, he could see things going sour very quickly from there. He could only imagine what sort of sick things Roman might sprinkle onto it and make it worse - awful person or not, Richard was _clever_. And even if Dean didn’t believe the lies, he was being targeted now. And if anyone could bring Dean Winchester down at Lawrence High, it was Dick Roman.

This was all his fault. Castiel had known from the second they’d started talking it would wind up this way. Castiel had to comply - he _needed_ to comply and stop the nightmare from starting. Dean wasn’t worth this, anyway… right?

When Edgar went in for another kick, Roman stopped him, but only because Chet signaled that a hall monitor was approaching. They all plastered fake smiles and helped Castiel back to his feet, claiming that he’d tripped down the stairs. The monitor didn’t seem so sure, but Cas didn’t say anything otherwise and just allowed them to escort him to the nurses’s office, where they secretly squeezed his arms as tight as they could the entire way there, whispering their threats over and over.

_“Stay away from Dean.”_

When Cas laid himself down in the nurses’s office that day, Meg Masters was in the cot next to him, faking sick again. All it took was one look between them and she knew; having a childhood friend had that effect, even if they barely spoke anymore.

“Leviathan?” She asked.

“What?”

“Dick Roman, the leviathan.”

“I... don’t understand.”

_“Asshole.”_

“Language, Masters,” Called the nurse from around the curtains, “Or I’ll send you right back to class!”

“Sometimes when you can’t swear, you need to come up with more creative terms,” Meg grinned, turning on her side to face Cas.

“And your term for him is... ‘leviathan’?” Cas questioned.

“Evil, big-mouthed serpent from the lowest depths of the sea,” Meg explained, “I think it suits him pretty well. You could always just call him by his name, though… _Dick_.”

The sound of a swivel chair rolling over snapped their attention to the nurse who looked less-than-pleased.

“If you two continue to talk, you’ll both be sent back to class!” She said coldly, glaring more towards Meg than Castiel.

Meg met her gaze, completely unfazed, where as Castiel complied and turned onto his side. The nurse clicked her tongue and rolled back away from them, leaving them in semi-solitude once again.

“One of these days you’re going to have to punch back, Clarence.” Meg whispered after a while.

Instead of answering her, Castiel looked up at the ceiling panels and started counting how many holes there were.

Dean had plenty of friends, Cas figured. What did it matter if one he barely had to begin with suddenly went away? Unlike himself, who’s friend group only consisted only of a few orchestra classmates, it wouldn’t exactly dent Dean any. He’d just start talking to someone else at Crash Course, they’d graduate in a month, and Dean would forget all about him. Cas figured he would be lucky if Dean even recognized him in the yearbook ten years later. It was for the best, for both their sakes, but especially Dean’s...

Well, keeping away from Dean Winchester turned out to be much harder than he thought - achievable, sure, but hard. Crash Course being mandatory didn’t help, and even though he attempted to slip out early, Dean had somehow caught him in the same exact stairwell that Richard had threatened him in just days earlier. Talk about irony. It was about as much as Cas could take to tell Dean to stop talking to him, fresh bruises hidden beneath the coat Dean always picked on him for. When Dean stormed off, and Castiel was sure it was over, he found that where he should have felt relief, he felt nothing but regret.

_“I should’ve told you. Right there, I should have told you everything.”_

Castiel took his pain out on playing his violin, day in and day out, on a piece he’d composed for the Fine Arts Festival. He played it over and over, well into the night, ignoring Gabriel’s complaints, unable to think about anything but Dean. Funnily enough, the piece, though not perfect, had never sounded better. But the night before rehearsal, the bitter memory of Dean walking away from him caused him to break his bow, and he had to plead with Anna the next morning for a spare.

“At least I know you were practicing hard,” She’d laughed, “Just promise you won’t break this one, too.”

“Promise.”

What happened after rehearsal that day changed everything for him.

Dean had found him somehow, and made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, despite everything, and Castiel decided neither was he. They became even closer, and Castiel - if only for a while - let go of his fears, because Dean was _worth it_.

Castiel played the piece at the festival perfectly, because Dean was worth it. He went to a house party the same night, something he normally would never do, because Dean was worth it. He even drank a horribly bitter beer because Dean was worth it.

He was worth… so many things.

The locker notes had shook him up, but Dean, even targeted himself, stayed true to his promise. He didn’t waiver. And after a long afternoon spent talking in a wheat field, Castiel decided not to back down either.

Dean was worth it.

It was a rainy Friday when Dick Roman had decided he’d had enough of Castiel’s disobedience. Castiel didn’t recall how it had started; Richard had just came out of nowhere and shoved him in the hallway, for the first time paying no mind to the students surrounding him. No longer concerned about his image, he was a hundred times more terrifying. But as Cas turned to him, he didn’t cower.

“What did I tell you?” Richard demanded as everyone made a half-circle around them in anticipation for the fight.

“I no longer care what you have to say,” Castiel said simply, planting his feet and refusing to look away. He thought about Dean and the wheat fields, and smiled.

In realizing that he had lost all manipulation of Castiel, Richard threw him a hard punch to the face, splitting his lip open and spinning him into a daze on the floor, but it was okay, _because Dean..._

Dean burst through the crowd of students and delivered Roman a punch of his own, and everyone started screaming and cheering - a showdown between two of the most popular kids of the school.

_… was worth it._

Following the fight and the suspensions, they walked to his house together, the smell of rain thick in the air, into what felt like an entirely new world. New perspectives. New chances. Then, the sound of tornado sirens in the dead of night...

_“You’re going to be alright, Dean.”_

Castiel hadn’t meant to fall for him. Yet he had, maybe long before Dean had ever said a word to him, and now, the storm Castiel had always noticed in his eyes was in full force. The light was all but gone, save for a few flashes, and all Cas wanted to do was bring it back, fully, and unlike all the times before - without a single cloud.

_“Oculi tui sicut arbores.”_

_Your eyes are the trees._

Cas continued to sip his beer rather gingerly as Dean sank into the crook of the couch, staring listlessly at the blank television screen, his bottle already nearly empty. Bobby pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and seemed to give the TV some small consideration before ultimately deciding against it. With Dean lost in another daze, he looked to Cas for conversation.

“Glad you could make it out,” Bobby told him, “With finals and all...”

Cas noticed Dean shift uncomfortably.

“It’s no problem.” Cas replied shortly, hoping to shift him away from the whole ‘finals week’ subject.

“You, uh… excited for it to be done?” Bobby attempted to smile for his sake, and side-eyed Dean.

“Not particularly,” Cas answered honestly, and Bobby looked between him and Dean, “I like school.”

“You _like_ school? And _how_ are you two friends again...?” Bobby asked, adding, “That’s a joke, by the way.”

Dean glared as Cas struggled to understand said joke.

“We met through Crash Course.” Dean finally spoke, though he made little effort in looking at anything but the blank television screen.

Bobby’s eyebrows furrowed. “That some kind’ve extreme Driver’s Ed thing?”

Dean finally smiled - just barely, and to Cas, it was like the sun coming back out again.

“Nah, it’s like, ah… last-minute after school study-thing for people failin’.” Dean explained, clearly proud to reveal his academic prowess to his uncle, “They basically force you to do it.”

Bobby shot Dean a look, then turned back to Castiel.

“You don’t strike me as the failin’ type.”

“I’m not,” Cas agreed, “My issue wasn’t academic, but more over attendance...”

“Ditchin’?” Bobby corrected, “Why would you ditch school if y'said ya like it?”

“I do. I like school. But not… _other aspects_ of it.”

“By ‘other aspects’ he means bullies,” Dean clarified, finally turning to look at them.

Suddenly, a flare of realization crossed Bobby’s features and he crossed his arms. “Ah, okay. Okay. Explains the suspension, then.”

Dean rolled his eyes and looked away once more, and Cas fell quiet.

“Your folks expecting you back any time soon?” Bobby prodded, if only to change the subject.

Cas shook his head, “No, they…” 

He trailed off. He’d felt like mentioning his father’s general carelessness regarding him, but at least he had a father… 

“They aren’t,” He said instead, “But school’s tomorrow, so I don't think I should stay too late.”

“Will y'need a ride back?” Bobby asked.

“No, thank you. I can call in little while, I’m sure it won’t be an issue,” Cas confirmed, as Dean sat up a little straighter.

“I can drive him,” Dean offered suddenly, and in unison, Cas and Bobby looked to the empty beer bottle on the table in front of him.

Dean noticed, then glared. “Oh, _come on_. It’s one.”

“As long as it’s at least an hour from now and that’s the only beer you plan on having ‘till then,” Bobby reprimanded, to which Dean held his hands up innocently.

“Hey, you’re the one who gave me it in the first place!”

“You don’t need to trouble yourself, Dean” Cas told him softly, “I’m sure Gabriel can -”

“Relax,” Dean insisted, “Either way I was gonna go for a drive later...”

“Oh, is that so?” Bobby raised an eyebrow and Dean half-smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

Castiel wasn’t entirely sure, but it almost felt as though Dean wasn’t so much offering as he really wanted to. There it was - moments like that where Cas felt like something more was going on between them.

_“I don’t care who you like, that’s your business, not mine.”_

_‘What if… it was you I liked?’_ Cas thought.

He sighed and looked down the neck of the beer bottle, having to remind himself, again, that even through all of this, he was only a friend of Dean’s. One friend of one of many, many others. His attendance at the funeral only had to do with him being involved with the disaster, and the fact the cemetery lot wouldn’t have held half of the Lawrence High School student body. He was grateful he was even friends with Dean at all, and despite their talks and their odd moments of closeness, he couldn’t expect anything more than that.

Cas finally took a solid swig of the beer, the instant bitterness of the liquid washing the absurdity of his thoughts away. It was really no wonder Dean why liked this stuff so much. He then wondered why any of this was even bothering him, because it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Whether he liked Dean, or by some improbable chance Dean _somehow_ liked him back.

It didn’t matter.

It _couldn’t_ matter...

* * *

_Earlier..._

“It was a freak thing, Dad!” Gabriel was insisting loudly as Chuck strided far ahead of him, head low and shoulders tightly squared.

Castiel sighed and excused himself from the rest of the group to go after them, more embarrassed than anything. Whether at school, the store, or at a funeral, it seemed as though his family never seemed to stop feuding with each other. It was no wonder all of his other siblings had taken off already - one of which preferring jail over staying with them any longer...

“I brought you both out here to be safer, and obviously it’s not safe anymore,” Chuck was saying to Gabriel as Castiel approached them from behind.

“Come on! Nowhere is safe!” Gabriel remarked, and Cas finally stepped between them, extending his arms out.

“Do you both mind bringing this home? Everyone can hear you.” Cas insisted, voice low, the figures of Dean and Sam standing at their parents’ graves just off in the distance.

Gabriel just snorted. “All the way over there? Doubt your boyfriend’s hearing is as good as his looks, Cassie.”

Castiel felt his face heat up before he glared coldly at his brother, his hand forming a fist.

“He is _not_ my boyfriend.”

“Really?” Gabriel glanced at Castiel’s fist then smirked, making it clear that he was hardly threatened.

“Boys, can we settle down a little?” Chuck asked sheepishly, before Gabriel redirected his anger back to him.

“‘Settle down’? Seriously? That’s rich from someone who wants us to move again!” He snapped.

Castiel’s eyes widened and he turned abruptly to his father. “Move...?”

Chuck gave Gabriel a look, then stared down at the wet asphalt and scratched the back of his head, unable to meet Cas’s all-too-intense gaze. Gabriel’s irritation suddenly made way too much sense.

“Look, uh, Castiel, even before this happened…” Chuck cringed, a writer struggling for the right words, “I… I got a job offer in Chicago. A _big_ one. Enough to get us a better house - ”

“The house we have is fine,” Castiel cut him off, to which Gabriel quickly agreed and joined his side.

“Yeah, you said it was ‘perfect’!” Gabriel reminded.

Their father sighed deeply and placed his hands together. “Okay, better just… tell you both now. It’s not _just_ a house and a job, but _tuition_. College, totally paid in full. For _both_ of you. I-I was going to tell you guys after Cas graduated, as a surprise.”

As Chuck finished, the contrast between Gabriel and Castiel’s faces was sharply different: as Gabriel melted into a sudden understanding, Castiel looked as though the ground was caving out from underneath him.

“Why didn’t you just say all that before, pops?” Gabriel asked, flipping back to their father’s side and grinning. _So much for staying on Castiel’s side..._

“Like I said, I wanted it to be a surprise, so... _surprise_!” Chuck shrugged, smiling awkwardly, not seeming to notice Cas’s continued silence, all-too-absorbed in Gabriel’s newfound excitement.

While Gabriel went on about how much he apparently hated working at the Mystery Spot, something Castiel highly doubted, he could only stare blankly, imagined images of the sudden future rapidly playing out before him: boxes filling up his room, then a truck, and Lawrence in the rearview mirror. _Dean…_

“When?” Cas finally asked.

Chuck ran a hand through his beard, huffing, “Ah, y’know, I’m thinking by the end next month, so July… _ish_. Sooner rather than later, though. I want you both to spend the next few weeks packing, so we’re just ready to go _whenever_.”

“Whenever…” Cas whispered to himself as he looked back over his shoulder at Dean, standing beside his brother over his parents’ graves. 

Whether he loved Dean, or Dean somehow loved him back, he was leaving Lawrence.

_It didn’t matter._

* * *

After a few hours sobering up, they visited Sam for a while and attempted to talk about everything _but_ the funeral. Sam seemed genuinely excited to have a visitor other than his brother, even if said visitor didn't have much to say. Castiel sidelined himself, and watched the Winchesters interact, noting how much calmer Dean was around his brother, and that despite the prevalent sadness in his eyes, he smiled more - even if it was only for Sam's sake. When visiting hours were over, Dean and Cas decided it was best to get him back home and had a mostly quiet walk back to Bobby's car outside the motel. 

Dean grumbled something profane as the Chevelle _literally_ shrieked to a start and Castiel smiled a little. He never thought he’d be warmed by someone saying the word ‘shit’, but it was a flicker of the old Dean he’d grown so used to.

“You’d think a guy who lives in a car graveyard might find a damn replacement belt laying around,” Dean complained of the noise as they backed out of the mostly-empty motel lot.

“Is that why it makes that noise?” Cas asked, and Dean nodded.

“I keep forgettin’ to pop the hood and check, but I could bet money it’s the belt slippin’.” Dean explained, visibly annoyed.

“You really know a lot about cars,” Cas started slowly, “Do you think… you might fix your father’s?”

Dean bit his lip, and shrugged his shoulders slightly, “Sort’ve all I’ve been thinkin’ about, honestly. I won’t know until we go get her tomorrow, but, well… you remember how bad she looked, Cas. I can fix parts here and there, easy, but… magically bending an entire frame back together, I…”

As Dean began to stumble on his words, Cas spoke up.

“I have faith in you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna need a lot more that _faith_ ,” Dean replied, before inwardly cringing as it had sounded much ruder than he meant it to be. He quickly corrected himself, “I mean, thanks, Cas. All I can do is try, right?”

“Right,” Castiel nodded, always far too understanding of him, “All any of us can do…”

***

Despite the foreign feeling of the Chevelle’s steering wheel, Dean really did feel more relaxed when he was driving. If it were up to him, he’d drive forever - to anywhere, he didn’t care - he’d go in circles all night with Castiel if he could, yet here he was, with only a few more seconds left as Cas’s corner house came into view. Maybe he should’ve drove slower, he thought, or taken a detour…

“Hey, uh, thanks for comin’ out today,” He managed to say, “Let your folks know...”

Though what he really wanted to say was: _“Do you want to go somewhere?”_

“Of course.” Cas replied quietly, as the car rolled to a stop.

But what he really wanted to say was: _“Can we go somewhere?”_

An all-too-familiar silence came between them as they both struggled with a mutual feeling to stay with each other longer, each of them gauging the other for some kind of a green light.

But it never came.

Cas found himself thanking Dean, his hand hesitating on the door handle before he pulled it open and got out of the car. It was too late to ask now, he thought. When he walked up the pathway to his front door and waved goodbye, it was, even more so now, too late. When the sound of the shrieky, old Chevelle pulled away as Cas made his way up his bedroom, empty boxes already lined up down the hallway, it was - most definitely - too late.

Castiel trudged towards his bed and collapsed head-first into his pillows, the completion of the long, sad day settling heavy on his mind. He wondered what would have happened had he just told Dean he wanted to stay out a little longer. He wondered where Dean would have taken him and what would have happened. He wondered if he would have told Dean the news about the move to Chicago. Maybe not, as Dean had just buried his father. How could Castiel lay something like that over it? He couldn’t imagine telling Dean he loved him, either. It wasn’t the right day for it. 

No day was the right day for it - he was moving away...

Mind stuck in a loop and throat tight from anxiety, Castiel glanced to the pill bottles sitting on his night stand. The Xanax bottle was low, with only a couple day’s worth left towards the bottom. Cas swallowed hard, then reached for it.

Maybe all of it would be better left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten chapters in - will they just kiss each other already? 'v`  
> Maybe soon! Stay tuned for the next chapter: Djinn & thanks always for your kudos <3 - numby


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